Only the Beginning
by Emmithar
Summary: Friendship can take you a long way, and love can take you beyond death. Character Death
1. Chapter 1

**Only the Beginning **

**By: **Emmithar

**Rating: **T

**Summary: **Friendship can take you a long way, and love can take you beyond death. Character Death

**Disclaimer: **I do not own CSI or any of the characters

**A/N: **No idea how long this one will be, but keep in mind the rating and warnings. Rating may go up later in the story. This is going to have a bit more angst in it than my other fics, so I hope you enjoy.

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**Chapter One: **The First Sign

It was the amazing how far the night could stretch. Even the road was lost in the crisp horizon, the morning still yet to come. Sara drew in a breath, her tongue clicking against her teeth as she glanced to her side with crestfallen eyes, watching the man next to her sleep. His hair, a natural brown color that seemed all too out of place settled evenly over his head.

The deep breaths he took, each one seeming to take more effort, was the only real audible sound that filled the air. Sara wasn't sure which was more alarming, the heaviness of his breaths, or the pale tone to his skin. She turned her attention up front, gripping the wheel tightly to keep her arms from shaking.

It wasn't fair, everything was happening too fast. She closed her eyes, drawing in another deep breath before concentrating on the road in front of her. The sky was growing pale behind them, the sun would be up soon now, and they still had a ways to go. As for now, they were the only ones on the road, and Sara pressed her speed, not knowing how much time was actually left.

Greg still slept soundly, as he had the entire trip, far too tired to stay awake, and provide the company Sara was desperately seeking. The others, she knew, would be angry with her, once learning of her feat. She dreaded the point when she would have to tell them all what had transpired, and prayed silently they would understand. If they were in her position, they would do the same…right?

* * *

Sara wasn't sure if she which was better; living in the city, jostling your way through life with all the other people, or living out your days shrouded by…nature. If you could call it that. She supposed there was a plus side to the whole country business. It was quiet…and…peaceful, she guessed. It worked well, if you liked that sort of thing.

The downside? If something happened out here, no one would be able to hear your screams…

Sara supposed that it was just as easy to kill someone in the city, she saw it near every day with the work she did. But at least in the city, someone found the body before it was nothing. And a skeleton was nothing, at least, not much.

Of course, they would still investigate, rule it as a homicide until proven otherwise. Still, the hatchet that had been lodged in the victim's skull was a pretty good indicator that it had been exactly that. Careful of where she walked, Sara eased herself down, balancing in a crouch as she passed her flashlight along the body.

She could hear Greg come in behind her, already moving to the far side of the room, his own beam crossing the room. There was nothing said between the pair, the two taking in the room on their own account. Words could be passed later, at the moment they needed concentration.

Sara reached forward, her fingers draping across the silver chain that rested around the skeletal neck, following it down to where it met a small silver tag. Squinting she could barely make out the letters there, but sighed as she did so.

"She must have been scared," Sara spoke quietly, grimacing at the small hatchet that was lodged in the bone. "She died quickly."

"How do you know Mr. Bones is a girl?" Greg wondered, searching through a stack of papers on a desk across the room. He coughed, waving a hand in the air as a cloud of dust wafted up.

"Diabetics carry identification tags," she explained to him, glancing up at him. "Jessica Lei, age 29…"

"Well, she could have had an attack, that could have been the cause of death," Greg suggested weakly, giving her an uneasy smile from across the room.

"And someone just came along and smashed her head in with an ax?"

Greg shifted uneasily, clearing his throat as he tried to reason, bringing out a laugh in her. "I've seen stranger things," she reassured him. "We're going to have a hard time proving that, if it did happen."

Greg nodded, moving along the wall until he came he came to several cabinets, all standing upright. He shot a few quick photos, the flash lighting up the area around him. Though still very much in training, he had fallen in well with this routine, working on and off with all the team members. It was still early, but he knew that he would like this job.

He came to a stop, drawing in a few deep breaths slowly. It was the strangest feeling ever, like all the sudden he could no longer breathe. Greg shook his head as it passed, coughing as more dust billowed up as he moved a stack of old newspapers.

"I think I have a timeline here," he called to her, clearing his throat as he did so. It was still scratchy, unsettling him a bit. He focused his attention instead on the papers; they were at least a year old. That piece of information could help them, but it didn't necessarily mean that was when the victim died…they could have been a collection, or something of the sort.

He ran a gloved hand over the top of one, wiping clear the layer of dust in order to read the paper better. It happened again then, his throat tightened, and he closed his eyes, desperately trying to get the breath of air his body was begging for.

Sara was talking again, but he could barely hear her, as though she had left the kitchen, and gone off into another part of the house. Tears stung the edges of his eyes, and he tried to calm himself down. It was going to pass; at least this is what he tried to convince himself.

What happened next was blurred, and he could hardly remember it all. All he knew is that he needed to get out of there, and quickly. Then there was the air; fresh, cool, clean air. He drew in the long awaited gasp, leaning against the railing, his hands gripping the wood.

Sara hadn't been far behind, and the worry in her voice was evident. She was careful not to touch him, moving slowly until she was by his side, watching him in the moonlight. "Greg?"

He nodded to her unanswered question, falling into a small coughing fit. Once it had passed he drew in another shaky breath, lifting his head up. "I'm okay," he nodded, his voice shaky, resembling the rest of his body.

"Sit down," she touched his arm, gently at first, then more forcefully, motioning to the porch swing.

Greg wasn't sure if he wanted to try to move, but he trusted Sara enough to lead him there, able to force out a grin as Sara sat next to him. "I'm doing fine, honest."

She didn't return his smile, watching him closely, noting his heavy breaths, clammy skin…as though he had just run a marathon, or something close to it. "What happened?"

She hadn't seen anything that had transpired before his quick dash out the back door. One moment she had been rambling off her own ideas, and the next, she was chasing after his retreating form. He shrugged it off, shaking his head. "Asthma attack, I guess."

"I never knew you had asthma," Sara responded quietly, to which Greg laughed feebly.

"Neither did I, learn something new every day, I guess."

He tried to sound light, as if it didn't matter, but Sara could see he was pretty shaken up about it. Lacing her fingers in his she gave him a slight squeeze, one of reassurance as he continued to catch his breath.

"Are you doing okay?"

Greg nodded, drawing in another deep breath. "Yeah, the fresh air feels really nice."

"It could be allergies too," she suggested. "There was a lot of dust in the house."

Greg nodded, knowing she was trying to make him feel better. She continued to speak, even as she stood, once making sure that he was indeed okay. "I'll finish up inside, you take the perimeter."

"You can't really expect to finish it all yourself," Greg frowned, feeling his strength come back as his heart rate finally settled. "I feel fine now, as long as I'm careful…"

"I don't want to push it," she shook her head. "The perimeter's pretty big as well, if you start now, we should finish up at the same time."

* * *

Greg didn't argue with her further, the matter had been said and done. Sara wished now she had looked deeper into what it all meant, maybe then she would have seen what was really bothering him. He seemed fine, well enough that he probably even convinced himself.

At that thought she risked another glance, unsure of whether she should be grateful, or uneasy that he was still fast asleep. Part of her wanted to wake him, wanted to hear his voice, a reassurance that he was still with her. There would be plenty of time for sleep soon enough.

The stars shone brightly ahead, wary of the impending light as the day made it's way into existence. She took care, to watch it closely in her rearview mirror. It could be the last time…she let the thoughts pass, unable to decipher their true meaning at the moment. Her concentration lay ahead of her, as did the road, never slowing her pace as they continued to head due west. She could only pray that he lasted long enough.

**TBC**


	2. Another Day

**Chapter Two: Another Day**

Greg wrung his hands nervously, sitting back down in one of the hard plastic seats that were offered. He was starting to worry…shift started in less than an hour and he was still waiting to see his doctor. It was part of an agreement…no, more of a demand.

Okay, he had to admit that he was concerned as well as the others were, but was it really fair incentive to force him to go to the doctors? After all he had promised he would with the coming weekend, until Grissom informed him that he couldn't work until he was checked out. The appointment had been quickly moved up to the next evening.

Except he was already supposed to be in, and if the receptionist told him one more time that it would only be a few more minutes…Greg supported his head in his hands, staring blankly at the wall. Last night had been more than active, everything had been going fine. Until they started moving stuff, until he started coughing, and couldn't stop.

The harder he tried to shake it off, the longer it lasted. He wasn't even aware that he had passed out, until he woke up on his back, meeting the worried gazes of the other three. Even though he had repeatedly told the others that he was fine, they kept him there, letting him do little more than sit up, until the paramedics arrived.

They said he was fine, suggestion a handful of reasons to why it all had happened. Some seemed reasonable, but it was enough for Greg, who repeated his firm beliefs that he was okay. Even so he was chased home early, with a stern warning from Grissom to get checked out.

His gaze drifted down the hall, where he watched a nurse help an elderly man into a wheelchair. A little girl jumped excitedly near another woman, not too far away, as she reached for a sucker. Greg pursed his lips, wondering where he fit in among everyone else, how all of this worked out.

He took a breath, telling himself to calm down. After all, asthma wasn't the end of the world. He would learn to deal with it; surely it wouldn't affect his work in the field, as long as he was careful, and had an inhaler…right?

He glanced up as his name was called, forcing a smile as he moved to his feet. Hopefully this wouldn't take too long; after all, he still planned on being there for work.

* * *

The drive over to the lab had been slow, leaving much room for uncertain thoughts. Greg tried to remain in high spirits, but that was easier said than done. The appointment had gone accordingly, better than he suspected at any rate. It wasn't that he assumed something was wrong, but he would be a fool not too. Still, it wasn't what they had told him, but rather what they hadn't.

He found Grissom in his office, the first stop he made when arriving to the lab. Greg stood there for a minute, watching him work, quickly deciding that he would come back later, another time when Grissom wouldn't be so busy.

"You can come in."

Greg stopped there, anxious to keep on going, but knowing it wasn't the best thing to do. He turned around, entering the office, skirting around the chair along the back wall. Grissom hadn't looked up yet, leaving Greg to do some exploring. He always found his supervisor's office to be…interesting. The items he had sitting on the shelves were more than intriguing.

"You get an okay from the doctors?"

"Yeah…"Greg replied softly, shifting where he stood. "Well, sort of…"

He meet Grissom's wondering gaze, turning away quickly. "They um…they say I seem healthy; they're a little concerned about my blood pressure being so low…other than that…"

"They didn't say anything about your coughing fits?"

Greg shrugged, reaching up to grasp one of the bottles that sat on the shelf, pulling it up to the front. There were several more, all of them holding bugs of different sorts. "They think some of its stress," he commented quietly, his voice dropping even more as he continued on. "They want me to cut my hours back."

"Are you stressed?" Grissom inquired, watching the young man straighten the vials on the shelf one by one.

Greg hadn't faced him the entire meeting, but slowly he slid his hands back into his pockets turning around, forcing out a small chuckle. "At the moment, yeah…a little, with everything, you know. They want me to go back in next week, for more tests."

Grissom nodded, taking in the information slowly. Greg reassured him that it was just to be safe, that they had cut the appointment short due to a busy schedule. Greg had then fallen silent again, meeting his own gaze briefly before turning away.

"We'll cut back your hours then," Grissom started, unsurprised when Greg moved quickly to speak.

"I feel fine," Greg argued, "I'm a little stressed now, I'll admit, but there's nothing wrong.

"I think it would be the best for everyone if you take it easy," Grissom pointed out, watching his facial expressions change. "We can't always be on alert when you go to a scene, it's asking too much of everyone else, and even more from you. We'll just cut your hours back to four a shift until you check out alright."

"Four hours?" Greg questioned incredulous, "That's not even enough time to process a scene, what are you going to do, keep me in the lab as well?"

"Or," Grissom cut in, trying to remain patient, "you can cut down the number of days you work. I'm giving you a choice here."

Greg frowned, his arms crossing his chest as he leaned back against the wall, staring straight ahead. "In others words I don't have one?"

Grissom let out a small smile, watching the younger man. "I'm not trying to punish you Greg," he said quietly. "I'd just rather be safe than sorry. Your health is very important to all of us, and it should be even more so for you. Don't you agree?"

"Yes…" Greg remarked dully, still not moving from his position.

Grissom gave him a long hard stare, raising an eyebrow, "You may want to try and make it sound like you actually do care."

Greg gave him a small smile, nodding. "I see you point," he said softly, "I just don't think it's very fair."

"Go home, get some rest then," he held up a hand as Greg started to argue. "I know you probably didn't sleep all that well after last night, and with the doctors today…you're still edgy. I'll see you tomorrow night."

Greg nodded after a moment, growing quiet. He knew better than to argue further with his boss, but it was ridiculous. After all, he was fine…wasn't he?

**TBC**


	3. Secrets

**All the chapters now are relating to the past, to clear up confusion. I'm loving what you guys have to say, to keep on reviewing :D**

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**Chapter Three: Secrets**

Grissom kept him very much to his word, getting on him if he even worked a handful of minutes over the clock. Working every other day threw his schedule off quite a bit, but at least it was better than only working a few short hours a day. Greg saw less and less of the team, and when he did chance to see them he was face with a barrage of questions, ones that he would answer the best he could.

He spent most of his time working with Grissom, his boss wanting to keep a closer eye on him, not like he couldn't take care of himself, that was. Today, however, Grissom would be busy with meetings, and his supervisor had already arranged for him to work with Sara. Needless to say he was excited, out of everyone he missed Sara the most, seeing her only on occasion in the last few weeks now.

That was how he found himself sitting at the table, doing his best to stay concentrated on what she was saying. Sara herself was in the midst of a case, and instead of letting Greg read the case file himself, she found it more…efficient if she read it aloud. Letting out a sigh Greg nibbled on the end of his thumbnail, watching Sara pace back and forth in front of him, her eyes fixed on the report she held in her hand.

"_Have you been short of breath lately?"_

"_A few times…but only when I was sick." _

"_It says here that you had pneumonia a while back, and then the flu right after that?"_

"_Yeah…the doctor told me it was a side effect from the pneumonia, that my immune system couldn't keep up with everything…why?"_

_The doctor hadn't answered, only looking through his reports. "Is there any other times you were sick that you didn't come in?"_

_Greg had thought about the answer, quietly. There were several times he had dealt with a cold or a common cough, a few times where he had ran a fever, but none of which were serious enough to warrant a visit to the doctors. He voiced this concern, becoming more worried as the doctor remained silent._

"Hey, sunshine!"

Greg glanced up quickly, much to the dismay of Sara, who now was frowning. "Why does that always work?"

He raised an eyebrow in question, frowning in return. Sara shook her head, now giving him a smile. "Have you paid even the slightest attention to what I've been saying?"

"Of course," Greg defended himself quickly, scooting up in his chair.

"Tell me then, what did trace find out about the fibers Nick and I collected?"

Greg cleared his throat, racking his brain to try and remember what the case was even about. "They were…um, they had…they're some kind of fabric, obviously important to the case."

Sara smiled smugly, setting the folder down on the table. "There were no fibers Greg."

He grumbled quietly, resting his head in one hand. "Trick question, completely unfair."

"If you had been listening, you would have known that," Sara reminded him sternly, before taking on a more settle voice. "What's on your mind?"

Greg looked up quickly, but his response was delayed. "Nothing…"

"You've been distracted all night," Sara told him gently, "Something's bothering you."

Greg shrugged, tracing imaginary circles on the table with his index finger. "It's nothing really, I'm just tired, and I zone out easy."

"Yeah…" her remark carried hints of sarcasm as she continued to watch him. Greg did his best to ignore her continuous stare, wanting more than anything to change the current topic, but remained silent for fear of accusation that he was trying to divert the conversation.

"We haven't really had much time to talk lately, have we?"

Once again Greg shrugged, letting out a silent prayer. It seemed that she had taken his settle hint, and had gone on her own to get the two talking once again.

"I mean, with you taking off extra days now, and the two of us working separate cases…the only time we really see each other anymore we don't even have enough time to say hello."

Greg said nothing to matter of fact, but he knew it was true. They had been close friends for the last few months now, and it seemed all the sudden that it had been ages since their last chat, though realistically it couldn't have been more than a week or two.

"You want to get something to eat?"

Greg looked up at her suspiciously. "Are you on crack?"

Sara laughed, a heart warming tone to his ears, though the effect of her rolling her eyes seemed to downplay the moment. "No…I was just thinking it would be nice to just get out."

"What…now?"

She nodded, reaching over to grab him by the sleeve. "We still need to take break anyways, and you said so yourself that you can't concentrate right now. Let's get out while we can."

He gave her a warm smile, pushing his chair back as she tugged on his sleeve. Sure, they had eaten together a few times, but someone else was almost always with them; Grissom, Nick, Warrick, sometimes Catherine. It was never just the two of them. Greg had to admit, as much as he was looking forward to it, he was also regretting it as well. Time alone meant more time spent talking, and not just everyday matters, but more personal secrets. Secrets he wasn't ready to share.

* * *

It was almost two in the morning, and Greg found himself fighting to stay awake as he poured over the records that were strewn about the table in front of him. He had been in the lab all day, had done little physical activity, but it felt as though he been running continuously. Of course, the simple fact that he didn't get any reasonable sleep within the last few days didn't help either.

He wasn't an insomniac, not yet anyways, but lately he had been to worried to sleep, far to restless to even settle down. The lack of sleep was quickly catching up with him, and at the moment he longed for nothing more than his own bed. Driving home would be a pain…

There was no need to look up when the man sat down across from him; Grissom had already called ahead of time to have Greg remain at the lab. It really wasn't a surprise what he had to say either.

"I talked to your doctor," he stated quietly, even though he had closed the door upon entering the room. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I thought those files were confidential," Greg remarked dully, flipping to another page.

"Not when I'm your supervisor," he took a breath, "So I ask again, why didn't you say anything?"

Greg let out a huff, his brows knitting as he turned yet another page. "I'm sorry, I couldn't exactly think of a creative way of telling you that I was dying."

The silence was unnerving, and Greg knew he had gone to far with the last line, but he honestly didn't care. Grissom, however, kept his tone steady, a quiet hush as he spoke. "No one's death is avoidable Greg," he reminded the young man. "We're all dying, some faster than others…"

"And I'm one of those lucky few."

Grissom ignored the comment, knowing that the younger man was dealing with a lot in a little amount of time. When he had last asked Greg about the doctors, he had been brushed off. It was enough to get him thinking. Part of him was grateful for calling in, knowing that Greg probably would have never told him anything, and yet he felt guilty. Greg was right in a sense, this was all personal, and he had little say in it.

"You get your medications?" he asked instead, wetting his lips.

"Dropped of the papers this morning," Greg answered sullenly, "The wait was two hours too many. I'll get them tomorrow."

Grissom nodded, somewhat satisfied. There was no need to remind Greg how important they were, no need to press the matter. Surely his doctor had explained enough, and to be frank, the medications would only slow the process, not stop it entirely. "People can go on for years…" he said quietly, hoping to encourage him.

"We're scientist Griss, you know and understand the odds as much as I do. I'm not going to play, I'm not going to pretend…it is what it is." He looked up for the first time, meeting his gaze. "I'm not going to say that it's easy, because that would be lying, but I can handle it."

"You sure?"

It took a moment, but nodded confidently. "What other choice do I have?"

Grissom gave him a small smile. It was hard to sit here, to see him look so healthy, and to know that he was slowly wasting away. "I know it doesn't mean much, but if you ever need someone to talk too…I'm here."

Greg nodded slowly, his attention turning back to his work. "Means more than you think," he stated quietly, thankful that there was at least one person he could talk to.

"You go ahead and head home, I'll finish up," Grissom told him, motioning to the paperwork.

Greg glanced up at him, then back down. "You sure?"

Grissom nodded again, shooing off newest CSI. He could tell easily that Greg was tired, noting how easily Greg gave in compared to a few days prior, where he nearly had to twist the former lab rat's arm off to get him home on time. Saying his goodnights Greg slid his hands into his pockets, heading out the door.

"_I don't understand," Greg said slowly, "I'm healthy, but my heart's bad? How can it be both?"_

"_Physically your heart is healthy, it's just giving out. It happens, just not that often. Your heart just can't keep up the physical demands of your body."_

"_But I feel fine," Greg said in disbelief, shaking his head. This all had to be a dream…_

"_Now," the doctor gave him a nod, "Slowly your heart will wear down, you'll find everyday tasks becoming more and more difficult, until your body just can't take it anymore."_

"_There's nothing I can do to strengthen it, or something?" Greg knew he was stretching, but at the moment, he was in complete shock. _

"_There are medications you can take to help, as well as several other activities you can participate in. It's hard to explain, we see this condition mostly in older people…this has been going on for a while now."_

"_But I would have noticed…"_

_The doctor shook his head, taking a seat next to the distraught man. It was never easy to tell someone the truth, but it was better than feeding them a handful of lies. "Not necessarily…"_

Greg let out a hefty sigh as he climbed in his car. It had taken him days to accept the fact, and he was still trying to digest all the information given to him. It was ironic how something so small could be so big at the same time…and he though asthma was the end of the world.

**TBC**


	4. A Friend In Need

**Thanks for all the reviews so far, I love reading your comments. Hope this is enjoyable :D**

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**Chapter Four: A Friend in Need**

He knew he shouldn't be here; if anything he should be home, getting his rest. At first it was what he attempted, but the restless tossing and turning wasn't getting him anywhere, he was normally awake at this hour. Finally he gave up, slipping quickly into some daywear, and headed out the door.

He took a taxi, no reason to bother driving a car, or even try. The night was cool, a warm wind blowing. Even still Greg had pulled on a coat, taking care to even zip it up. It had been three months now, since he learned of his condition. Even so, he still didn't feel much different, save for the sleepless nights, and his weight loss.

It was easier for him to notice than the others, for which he was thankful. Grissom pressed him often; the others deserved an explanation, instead of being led on. Greg knew he was right, and though he had tried several times, he had never been able to follow through. After all, how did you tell someone you were dying?

Grissom had handled the news fairly well, taking his own time to check in on Greg without tipping off the others. He had even invented excuses to why Greg had been taking off so much time, stating it was some sort of policy the lab held. Greg only agreed, knowing that he couldn't come up with anything on his own.

He spent that night wondering, as he walked along the streets, lost in a sea of people touring the city. Somehow he had to let the others know, sometime soon. It wasn't fair for them if he kept his condition a secret…was it? After all, he couldn't keep the charade up much longer.

Sara had called him last night, after he had gone home, inquiring if he was alright. Greg laughed, even though he desperately wanted to cry, and reassured her through clenched teeth that everything was okay. Not only that, but several days before Warrick had asked the same question. Even Hodges had made a mention of his absence from the lab, noting Greg's quiet demeanor.

Surely someone had to suspect by now, and Greg partially wished they did. If they assumed, it would be far easier nodding in answer rather than diving into a full explanation.

He came to a stop in front of a local club, one he visited often when he was younger. He and several friends would drive up to Vegas every so often, a prime spot for them as they passed around drinks and eyed young women, sharing jokes between them. Greg smiled at the memory, knowing that as time went by, there would be less and less of those.

In the crowd he saw a face, a flash of blonde; he couldn't be certain but it sounded as though his name had been called. As soon as he saw it though, it was gone, and he shook his head, about to move on when it came again. This time he was sure, getting a good glimpse of blonde, dressed in a sleek black dress that settled around her ankles. Smiling he nodded, indicating to Catherine that he did see her, the woman moving closer to him.

As she reached him, he made a move to say hello, but never got the chance as she grasped his arm, pulling herself close to his ear. "We're dating," she whispered fiercely, turning to glance over her shoulder.

Greg's brow furled in confusion, trying to follow her gaze into the crowd. A man pressed his way through, calling out to them as he hurried along. "Just say it," Catherine pleaded again. She turned quickly wrapping an arm around his shoulder as the man approached.

"Hey baby," he cleared his throat, and Greg felt Catherine dig her fingers into his shoulder in slight indication.

"We're dating," Greg stuttered quickly, pushing Catherine's hand off his shoulder. Her fingers wrapped around his as she gave him a soft smile, her follower taking a step back.

"I told you I was busy, James" Catherine chimed, sweetly smiling at him. Greg managed to crack one as well, despite how uncomfortable the situation felt. His heart was racing as he tried to keep his breathing steady. Hopefully she knew what she was doing, the man entitled as James was a head taller than he was, and most likely just as strong. It was also a fair guess that he was drunk as well. A not so perfect combination.

"You said you were single," James slurred, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand as he studied the pair. "You two sure don't look like a couple."

"I said I wasn't single," Catherine informed him, ignoring his last comment. "Men just never listen."

"Hey," Greg commented, turning to glance at her quickly, offended by her statement.

"Except for you sweetheart," Catherine laid it on thick, running a hand through his spiked hair to add to the effect. "Where are we going?"

"Going…?" Greg raised and eyebrow, coughing quickly to cover his words, "oh…going…we're uh…going this way." He nodded, pointing with a thumb over his shoulder.

James didn't seem convinced, but Catherine didn't wait around to see. Instead she wrapped an arm around his waist, leading him through the maze of people. It wasn't long before they lost him; even still Catherine was determined to put as much distance between them and the drunk civilian.

"Wait a minute," Greg complained lightly, moving quickly in order to just keep up with her. "Why are we dating?"

"Because the guy's an ass and can't take a hint," Catherine commented wryly, turning to glance over her shoulder. "I think we've lost him."

"If we keep going at this rate we'll lose all of Vegas as well," Greg pointed out, grateful when she slowed down. Catherine let go of him, once giving him a quick hug.

"Thanks," she breathed, swinging her purse over her other shoulder. "I really owe you one, I don't know what I would have done if you didn't show up."

Greg rubbed his wrist, keeping stride with her easily now. Although he hated to admit it, their short sprint had left him fatigued. Instead of answering he just nodded, working on slowing his heavy breaths, only grateful that noise of the city concealed his breathing.

They came to a stop in front of the Bellagio, Catherine leaning over the railing. The wind was carrying a light sheen of mist off the water, coating their skin. It was refreshing to get a break from the nighttime heat. Greg leaned up against the railing next to her, staying in a quiet demeanor. He didn't mind the company, but wasn't so sure of what to say. Surely Catherine had more interesting places to be, rather than hang out with an ex-lab rat, a rookie in the field.

"I don't know what to do anymore Greg," she mentioned quietly, the tone of her voice catching his attention quickly. "My life's a complete failure…"

"Surely it can't be any worse than mine," Greg suggested with a shrug, but it didn't detour her.

"I'm a failure a mother, I hardly ever see Lindsey, and God forbid if I even know what she wants or where she is half the time. I'm a failure as a wife and a girlfriend, nothing worked out with Eddie and all the guys I meet now are goons. I just…sometimes I wish I could go back, and start all over, you know. Maybe I could have done something different, made things work with Eddie, maybe then Lindsey wouldn't be so angry all the time."

"I doubt it," Greg told her, "Eddie was…just Eddie. Nothing you could have done would have changed him."

"That's what Grissom says," Catherine remarked coldly. "I loved him once…I guess. I've tried after that, so many times now, and have come up with nothing. I guess that's why I'm so desperate that I'd go out with anyone, even that jerk back there…"

"What about Warrick?"

She glanced at him wryly, one hand on her chin, the other extended over the railing. "What about him?"

"Well…" Greg cleared his throat, giving her a small shrug. "He's nice…and he seems to like you."

"I like him too…" Catherine mentioned quietly, shaking her head quickly. "What am I saying? It would never work."

"Why is that?"

"Just because…" she was at a loss for words, "I mean, you just don't waltz up to your coworker and say 'hey I think you're cute, date me will ya?'"

Laughing Greg folded his arms as he supported his weight on the railing. "It's not going to happen unless you try something."

"And you know this how?" she wondered curiously. "Are you and Sara dating yet?"

It was Greg's turn to blush, as he looked away quickly. "Well…no, but that doesn't count."

Catherine laughed, nudging him with her elbow. "I'll make you a deal. They day you start dating Sara is the day I ask Warrick out."

"Is that a promise?" Greg wondered, giving her one of his famous grins.

She nodded, with a laugh, falling silent as the time passed by. "So…why are you out here?" she wondered, "I mean…Grissom said you were taking tonight off, I thought maybe you weren't feeling well or something."

"I feel okay," Greg nodded, fumbling in the darkness of his mind for an answer. "It's just…I'm good, yeah, I'm good."

Catherine frowned as she straightened up, noting how nervous he seemed. "Are you sure?"

He took a deep breath, steadying himself. It was now or never…

"I've been busy…I uh…I had an appointment today, over at Desert Palms."

Catherine nodded, still watching him. "Okay…"

"I uh…they don't know for certain but…" he wiped his brow with the palm of his hand, pausing for a moment. He couldn't help it then, his shoulder shaking as he held his breath. His hand was now a shield, covering his face as he began to cry, trying to block out the sight of his tears, and the sound of his sobs.

At first Catherine wasn't sure what was happening, worried that he was having another attack, about to move to call for help. It was then she noticed he was crying, and her worry dissipated, for only a moment. She had seen many grown men cry; fathers, sons, uncles and nephews…but none of them had been her friend, none of them she cared about.

"Greg?" she reached out shakily, placing a hand on his back.

He didn't pull away, but did wipe his face clean of the tears, drawing in his first full breath of air. "I'm dying Cath, I'm dying, and there's nothing they can do…"

There was no answer; she couldn't come up with one. His words had faded soon after he had first announced what was going on. For a while now she had her suspicions, thinking that Greg either had something going on that he was taking care of, or that perhaps he was transferring, just some explanation to why he had been missing so much work lately.

But this…this was beyond comprehension. She watched him now, as he desperately tried to regain control his shuddering body, unable to believe anything he had just said. He looked healthy…from a glance. Now that she looked closer she could see his face was drawn, his eyes filled with despondency, through all the unshed tears.

"What?" she shook herself out of the trance quickly, her hand still resting on his back. "I don't understand…how…why?

"My heart…" he stammered quietly, choking over his own tears. He took another breath, his head hanging low. "My heart's no good…it's giving out."

Catherine stood their numbly, waiting for Greg to pull out of this spell, to shout out that it was all some sick joke. Yet the more she watched him, the more she knew, and understood that he was serious. This…this was really happening.

"They couldn't give me a reason," Greg muttered through his teeth, wiping his face once more.

"How long…?" Catherine asked the dreaded question, knowing she wouldn't like then answer.

Greg shook his head, the tears starting to flow once more. "Months…" he whispered, another sob breaking through. "A year, if I'm lucky."

He was crying again, leaving Catherine standing there, feeling sick to her stomach. She couldn't even comfort Lindsey, her own daughter, for trifle matters. How was she supposed to comfort a friend, a friend who desperately needed it?

"What about a transplant?" she breathed quickly, although knowing it wasn't an option. The cost alone was one thing, but it often took years to even be approved to be on a transplant list, let alone find a match.

Greg shook his head, "Not enough time," he wheezed quietly.

There was nothing else she could say; instead she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into an embrace. She could feel him lean into her, as he continued to cry, his sobs pulling at her own heart. Part of her wished desperately that this was just some sort of bad dream…any minute she would wake up, rush down to the lab and see the happy, vibrant man she knew. This…this person here couldn't be…wasn't the friend she knew.

**TBC**


	5. Decisions

**Chapter Five: Decisions **

His hands were held together nervously, elbows resting on the table as he leaned his forehead against his clasped hands. Closing his eyes he let out a quiet breath, warning himself to calm down. He was getting worked up over nothing.

"I'm sorry," Greg apologized, moving his hands away from his face. Instead he folded them across each other, placing them flat on the table.

"For what?" Catherine asked, bringing the cup to her lips.

"For everything," Greg let out a shrug, "for putting all of this on you…for ruining your night…" he swept his hand across the table, over the plate of uneaten food. "For not even eating all of this wonderful food you bought."

Catherine had spent most of the evening calming him down; even staying long after Greg had reassured her that he would be okay. Instead of heading home as she first planed, Catherine opted to continue walking the strip along with Greg, offering to even buy dinner. Greg had declined, but after she insisted he gave in easily. Maybe it was a tad too much; maybe she should have just let him leave. Then again, maybe the news of his condition frightened her more than she would admit, to the point she had to stay with him, for her own sake.

"No one's forcing you to eat," she reminded him, putting her own fork down. She hadn't felt much like eating either…dinner was definitely not a good idea. However, she would grimace at the price later. "We can find something else to do…"

"I'd rather go home…" Greg started quietly, pausing to see her reaction. When she said nothing he moved to continue. "I appreciate everything you're doing, I really do…but I'm a little tired…"

Catherine nodded, "Are you sure? I don't mind doing something else."

Greg smiled, turning away. "It's very nice but…I don't need to be pitied."

"I'm not pitying you," Catherine argued, "I just want to make sure everything's okay for you…"

"Because you feel sorry for me," Greg finished. Catherine opened her mouth to say something, but wasn't able to find the words. Greg only nodded, pushing his food to one side of the plate. He turned the fork over his fingers, sighing. "I told my family today…"

"How'd they take it?" she asked quietly, moving back as her plate was taken. Greg waited for the waiter to leave before continuing.

"My sister cried, my mom cried…my dad won't even talk to me. He still blames me for moving all the way out here."

Catherine wondered dimly what kind of father wouldn't talk to his own son, but remained quiet. After all, it taken nearly all her life to learn who her real father was, and that was on a hunch.

"They want me to move back there…to New York, so they can take care of me."

She nodded, "It's not a bad idea Greg…we'd miss you if you went, but if it's for the best."

"I don't know anymore," he breathed quietly. "I want too see them…but I don't want them to see me...to watch all this happen. They want me to come home so they can watch me die, and I don't want them to have to go through that."

Catherine nodded in understanding, seeing his point. "What about everyone here? Have you told anyone else?"

"Grissom," Greg shrugged, looking away.

Catherine spread her hands out, lifting an eyebrow. "Anyone else?"

"I haven't exactly figured out how to do that yet," he let out a sigh. "If I break down every damn time I tell someone, I'm not going to last…"

He dropped his head into his hands, sighing as he could feel the lump rising in his throat again. Not again, not again, he cursed silently, drawing in another deep breath as he lifted his head. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he shook his head.

"Why don't we head home," Catherine suggested, sensing his distress. She could see him nod dully, and a sudden feeling of remorse swept through her. She had no idea what he was going through, and there was little she could say to him. It wasn't something he could just forget, or get over with…

"You've been more than wonderful tonight," Greg told her quietly, "I think I'll just grab a taxi, get out here."

"Don't be ridiculous," she scolded him, a smug smile crossing her face. "I'll drive you home."

"You've already done enough," Greg insisted, taking one last sip of his water before standing.

Catherine was quick behind him, wrapping a hand around his arm. "I insist," she laughed as he rolled his eyes, but he followed without complaint, the pair leaving the restaurant behind.

* * *

Greg squinted in the bright lights, almost tempted to put his sunglasses back on. The store was small, three counters forming to make a partial square. He walked up the front, or in this case, the back of the store, glancing over the counters. The place was empty, a door in the back propped open by a chair.

He considered wandering down there, just to take a peek inside…but decided against it. He felt it would be a little inconsiderate, still they knew he would be here. He reached out and rung the bell instead. Greg checked his watch, letting out a sigh. The others were meeting him at the diner in fifteen minutes for a quick bite to eat before shift started. This was just a quick stop along the way. Quick…but necessary.

It had taken a long time for him to come to this decision, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized that this, all of this, was right. Then why did he feel so guilty? Greg paced slowly in front of the counter, fumbling with his sunglasses. Outside the day was bright, the temperatures already soaring into the triple digits.

He wasn't sure what got into him that morning; he had slept well the night before, waking up earlier than he was used to. With nothing to keep him occupied he had gone out for a morning jog. Doctors had stressed the important of exercise, as well as the important fact of going too far. Greg found out the hard way where that line was.

He was only thankful that he was able to make it back to his place, thankful that he was able to get his breathing under control himself. He couldn't have another episode again, not when he was this close…

It left him lightheaded, weak, and extremely fatigued, although he had more sleep the pervious night than he had in days. A phone call was what woke him up, and he accepted the invite to the diner. It was when he was getting ready to head out that the company called him, informing him that his order had come in.

Another tap of the bell…this was starting to take longer than he liked. Maybe he should come back later, after shift. Grissom had promised him that he would let him back out into the field tonight. The first time since being diagnosed with a bad heart. It had taken Greg a lot of convincing on his part in order to reclaim that privilege.

Grissom had let up a lot, Greg had to admit. He was making his way into work almost nightly now, although he had done that under his own will. Grissom knew full well about it, but hadn't said anything. His supervisor was anxious enough about him going back out into the elements tonight.

It would be a cool night, prompting part of his decision. The cold, as well as the heat, such as what was outside now, affected him more than Greg would like to admit. Of course, he couldn't deny that he was excited. Perhaps a little more excited than he should be. Still, he was starting to feel like a member of the team again.

Even Catherine had backed off a little. She had willingly kept his condition a secret, although Greg had forced her to swear a promise, he knew deep down that she would never tell anyone without his consent. She made a point of stopping by each day, if only to just say hi, to study his mood. A while back she had stopped asking him if he was okay, learning that it only made him more nervous. Yes…things were almost back to normal.

Greg let out a scowl, leaning over the counter as he tapped the bell once again. It would be incredulously easy for someone to rob this place blind with service like this. Maybe he should come back later…seven minutes left.

Straightening up he let out a frown as a man waltzed forward, coming in from the back room. His upper lip was stained with white residue, most likely a milkshake, one he hastily wiped off as he spotted Greg. "Can I help you?"

Greg rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to shoot back a sarcastic remark. Instead he let a false smile play across his face, his hands resting on the counter. "You called me about thirty minutes ago, my package is in."

"Ah right…Mr. Sanders, is it?" The heavyset man asked, walking over to the shelf that was covered in boxes. Greg nodded as the man poured through all of them, sighing heavily. This was starting to take an eternity, and unfortunately, he didn't have an eternity to spend here.

"Here we are," the man replied, pulling a box out from near the front. Greg reached out to take it, but was stopped as the man began to open it. "A .45 right?"

Greg nodded, eyeing the small gun as he pulled it out. When the owner offered it to him, Greg had to pause for a moment, wiping his hands on his jeans. It was the first time he had ever held a gun before. Turning it over in his hands he examined it closely, barely listening to the man as he talked. It felt incredibly heavy, though he knew that wasn't the case.

"You know how to work one of those?"

Greg glanced up at the man suspiciously…did he know? Was it really that obvious? Instead he nodded, clearing his throat. "Yeah, I just…it's been a while."

"There's a couple of good target ranges around here," the man continued without missing a beat. "If you're new here in town I can point them out for you."

Greg shook his head, "No, that'll be okay. I know my way around." He placed the gun back in the box, closing the lid. After paying, he thanked the man again, hurrying out to his car, where he stashed it under his seat. At this rate he would have speed the entire way just to make it on time. As he pulled out of the parking lot he tried to calm his racing heart, gripping the steering wheel tightly to ease his shaking hands. Everything would be okay…

**TBC**


	6. Flying High

**Chapter Six: Flying High**

Resting against the pillows Greg paused to take a long drink of the cold beer. Letting out a satisfying breath he set it on the nightstand, grasping the remote in his other hand. He had been surfing the channels for nearly an hour now, and still hadn't found anything very interesting. Greg never was a big fan of television, not only did he not have the time to really watch anything, but he saw enough twisted things in life that there was no need to watch it on the TV.

He paused, coming to a stop on an old western movie. His grandfather was a big fan of these types of movies, and had tried to get Greg hooked on them as well, with little success. They were all the same…cowboys, Indians, bows and arrows, guns…

Greg took another sip of his beer, glancing sideways at the nightstand next to his bed. Placing the remote on his lap he reached over with his now free hand, pulling the drawer open. It was clear in back, hidden underneath several papers, a pile of Kleenex, and a handful of old batteries.

In the background a series of gunshots could be heard, yelling and screaming, horses stampeding. Greg shook his head, watching the screen in amusement as he held his own gun, resting his head against it. It was cold against his skin, making him wonder vaguely if he was running a slight fever…or if it had anything to do with the fact he was on his third bottle. And still, he felt incredibly thirsty. He swallowed another mouthful.

Laughing Greg brought the gun forward, pulling the trigger in mock performance, letting out a sigh when the only response was a silent click. Of course, it would help if the gun was actually loaded…but then again it would ruin his television. Not that it mattered; he barely used the thing anyways.

Let the gun rest on his lap, as he finished the rest of the bottle. He wasn't as afraid of it now as he was in the beginning. Greg still wasn't sure what he was going to do with it…keep it hidden, keep it quiet. If someone found out about it, someone as in Grissom or Catherine, they would freak. Greg laughed at the thought, tossing the empty bottle in the small trash can near the end of his bed. There was still another one on the nightstand, but he left it alone for the moment.

His parents had called again, earlier that morning. There were more tears, more pleadings for him to return home. Greg refused them all, apologizing at the same time. Then it became heated, his father taking over the conversation. Greg listened quietly as the man outlined his thoughts, in the calmest words possible. He was being ungrateful, selfish, and just plain ignorant. It was the same conversation he had given the boy when Greg first announced that he moving to California.

Even as much as he wanted to, Greg did not hang up. After all, it was the first time his father had spoken to him since going off to college. It only lasted a handful of minutes, then his mother was back on the phone, begging him to come home, for at least a visit. Greg bitterly told her the truth; he didn't want too. The call lasted nearly an hour before they came to a decision. He would call the often, as long they let him keep to himself.

Greg enjoyed his independence, enough that he wasn't willing to let it go. He could hear the knocking from his bedroom, but was in no big hurry to answer it. There were very few people that would be stopping by to see him, and since he hadn't ordered any takeout, his choices were even less. Greg shook his head, smiling softly as he slid the gun back in its hiding spot.

Grasping the unopened beer bottle, Greg swung his feet over the side of the bed, working his way out to front door. Sara waited just outside, raising an eyebrow at his apparel. Greg had never bothered to change from his pajamas, which consisted of a white t-shirt, and a pair of gray sweats.

He smiled, taking a sip of his beer as he leaned against the frame. "Didn't expect to see you here," he joked lightly, grinning at the irritation on her face.

"I called you three times," she reminded him firmly, making a face as she caught a whiff of his breath. "You're drunk…."

"Not yet," Greg nodded towards her, pulling back.

Sara followed in cautiously, closing the door behind her. There were no lights on, though it really wasn't necessary, the light that came in from outside was plenty enough. Greg sat down on one of the couch, motioning to the empty space.

"You said you wanted to see me," Sara told him, pushing aside some stray magazines. It wasn't her first time in Greg's place, and she had to admit that it seemed cleaner than usual.

Greg nodded, taking another sip. Sara was quiet, watching him as he began to zone out. "About…?"

Greg snapped back to attention, watching her with a full expression. "Oh…nothing really…I just thought it'd be fun to hang out…I mean, if you don't want to stay I understand, but…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "Never mind…I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called you."

"It's okay," Sara laughed, smiling at him. He was cute when he did that, she had to admit. Setting her purse on the floor she leaned back against the cushions, watching him. "You do anything exciting today?"

"Sleep?" Greg suggested, tapping the side of the bottle with his finger. It was his day off, and Grissom had given him a stern warning about staying home. Sara had finished her shift fifteen minutes ago, heading straight over to his place. Greg had called her earlier that morning, insisting they needed to talk. What about she wasn't sure, obviously he wasn't going to let up now, but maybe with a little prodding…

She let him steer the conversation, helping him along whenever he began to grow quiet. Most of it was small talk, but it ventured onto other categories. Soon they were both laughing, taunting one another. Sara had settled in comfortably, both shoes up, still facing him. They had ordered something to eat, and it would here any moment.

Greg was enjoying himself, and to him it seemed as Sara was as well. Maybe he had the intention of telling her, when he first called her, he wasn't sure anymore. More than anything he wanted to hear her voice, wanted to spend some time to really get to know her…after all, it wasn't like he had all the time in the world left. He didn't…he let out a heavy sigh, thinking everything over.

"You okay?"

Greg glanced over his shoulder, nodding. Sara had gotten up from the couch, moving up behind him. He leaned his head back as she began to rub his shoulders, her own head coming to a rest above his. "What would you do if you only had one day left to live?"

Sara shrugged, watching him through narrowed eyes. "I don't know…why do you ask?"

"Just curious…" he murmured quietly, downing the last of his current beer. It was a thought that had been with him for quite a while now. Sure, he had more than a day, but his time was slowly running out. And that remained the fatal question…what would he do?

* * *

Greg hung his head over the white bowl, keeping himself steady even as his stomach heaved once again. He closed his eyes in a moan, praying that was the last of it. Even through his heavy breathing he could hear her come in, and he was already shaking his head as he threw up again.

"Feel better?" she asked, a grin crossing her face as she watched him.

Greg pulled back into a sitting position, banging his head lightly against the counter behind him for good measure. "Not really," he rasped, wetting his lips with his tongue. Sara had moved closer to him, working over the sink, the water running. He made no attempt to move, closing his eyes as he tried to calm his shaking body. He had thrown up so many times he was quite surprised that he hadn't lost anything important.

He grimaced as the cold cloth touched his face, pulling away. Sara's firm hand on his shoulder kept him from going too far as she wiped his face clean. "Stay still," she muttered, shaking her head.

Sitting back on her haunches she laughed, watching him. "You are totally smashed," she giggled, holding the spoiled cloth in her hands. It didn't bother her much; she handled worse things while at work. "Have you ever been drunk before?"

Greg glanced up at her, blinking several different times. "Is that a trick question?"

She let out a breath, shaking her head, "I'll take that as a no…so why the sudden change?"

"What…we all have to try it once in our lives…right?" he joked lightly, his laughter turning into a series of coughs.

"You need to find a hobby," Sara warned him, moving back over to the sink. She knew well enough herself how dangerous this could be. It was easy enough to tell by Greg's reaction this wasn't a common habit. It had taken her a long time to get over her habit, and even longer to admit that there was a problem.

"What about chicken chasing?" he suggested, this time provoking a laugh out of her.

She dropped the cloth in the sink, smiling down at him. "Well, if you ever find chickens in the middle of the Nevadan Desert, give me a call, I'll chase them with you. Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

"I'm thirsty," Greg said suddenly, lifting his arms up as she pulled his shirt off.

"Well, if you can stop throwing up for half a minute, I'll get you some coffee, and something for your head."

"You know what sounds good?" he continued, as if he hadn't even heard her. "A martini…"

"That's the last thing you need," Sara tossed the shirt into the corner, moving over to help Greg to his feet.

He stared up at her, grinning. "We can go to that one place, what's the name…Rayain…something, you know, the place with those cherries…those are the best. I'll drive," he offered, smiling still.

"You're not driving anywhere," she told him firmly, grabbing his forearms to pull him up.

Greg held onto her tightly, still uneasy on his feet. "Fine then, you drive, but we'll take my car, gets better gas mileage."

"I'm not driving anywhere either," she told him sweetly, ruffling a hand through his hair. She had to admit, he was adorable this way.

"You can't expect us to walk," he slurred quietly, coughing to clear his throat. "It's all the way over there," he pointed in one direction, furling his brow as he thought for a moment, then pointed the other way. "That way?"

She ignored him this time, tugging at the waistband of his sweat pants. "Come on; work with me here for a moment."

He grinned, shaking his head. "I've never seen you so eager to get me out of my clothes," he joked, kicking them off once they fell around his ankles. Easing himself back he lifted himself up, sitting on the counter.

She gave him a smile in return, kicking the pants over with his shirt. "Yeah, now let's see if you can stay conscious long enough to actually enjoy it."

Greg frowned, giving her an offended look as she started the shower, testing the water with her hand. "Don't even start," she warned, turning back towards him. "Hurry up; I'll be back in a moment."

Greg watched as she gathered his stray clothes, grinning. He was still oblivious to the entire situation, hanging somewhere in a hazy fog. The water was still running, the bathroom door still ajar. Getting up he leaned over to close it, holding onto the wall for his balance.

The water was cold, stinging his skin, but in a sense it felt wonderful. He was still running warm, unaware of that fact as well. He turned his head as the bathroom door opened, frowning.

"There are fresh clothes on the counter," Sara told him, her voice still upbeat.

"What, no privacy?" he wondered, smoothing his hair back under the water.

She pulled the curtain open, watching him with a frown. "And do what, let you pass out and drown? You're not getting out of this that easy. You're first time being drunk, your first real hangover…I can't wait." She smiled mischievously.

He stuck his tongue out at her, something that was completely childish, but it was enough to get her to laugh. She left him alone, with one last warning to make it quick. There was little he remembered after that, with little knowledge of how he ended up fully dressed, and in bed.

He slept most of the night heavily; it wasn't until the earlier hours that it became hard. He was running a fever by then, his head pounding steadily. With his head raised he glanced around, the dimly lit room only confusing him more. There was something he said, but it was incomprehensible, but it didn't go unheard.

Sara ran a hand through his hair, easing his head back down. She had been with him all night, without his slightest knowledge, curled up next to his heated body. "Go back to sleep…" she told him quietly. Greg blinked wearily, but complied, the only knowledge he had was that it was dream…and a wonderful one at that.

**TBC**


	7. Worries

**Chapter Seven: Worries**

Greg found himself when he woke up the following morning. He blinked a few times in the dim light, fighting through a pounding headache as he glanced around the room. There was little he remembered from the night before, and he thought it over as he pulled himself up to a sitting position. Sara had been over the night before; he could tell that by the simple fact his room was clean. The bottles were gone, his trash emptied and his dresser drawers were closed.

He rubbed his forehead, sinking in his pillows that rested against the headboard. Sara had come over, they had talked for a while, watched movies on the television, had something to eat…but…did she sleep with him? Did Sara Sidle actually sleep with him?

Greg laughed softly. Impossible, he would have remembered something like that, and besides, if she did, she would still be here…would she? Greg summarized last night easily. Obviously he passed out, and Sara got him into bed…he only dreamed that she had stayed.

The thought disappointed him some, as he continued to rub his head. He would have to be more annoying next time…if there was a next time. Letting out a worried sigh Greg reached over, pulling the drawer open quickly. It was still there, untouched. Already he felt better, how in the world would he explain something like that to Sara.

Greg glanced up quickly, as he heard a whistle coming from the kitchen area. His brow furled as it grew louder, more persistent…it sounded almost like. "Tea kettle," Greg muttered quietly. Did he leave it on from last night?

He never even used it last night. His worry increased as the sound died, footsteps making their way across the floor. Someone was in his house.

He slid the drawer shut, moving quickly off the bed. Coming to a stop just outside his bedroom he laughed, shaking his head. Sara only gave him a smile, pulling out one of the chairs to the dining table.

"So was last night wasn't a dream," Greg murmured, resting his weight against the nearest wall.

Sara beckoned to him, motioning to the chair as she placed the cup down in front of the open space. "Hope you don't mind, I made myself some tea," she raised her own cup in show before taking a slow sip.

Greg watched her warily, easing himself down into the chair. She was smiling at him, even as she sipped her own drink, once again motioning for him to drink. "Water…" he made a face, tilting the cup to one side. "Whatever happened to coffee?"

"It's actually worse; you want to rehydrate your system."

He blinked. "How do you know…or do I even want to ask?"

She shook her head, placing her cup on the table. "Probably not." She was still smiling, even as he took his first few sips. Afterwards he set his cup back down, rubbing his forehead. "You ah, were rather talkative last night," Sara mentioned, blowing away the steam that drifted up from her own cup.

Greg looked up at her in surprise, raising an eyebrow. "Was I?"

"You said some very interesting things…"

Greg cleared his throat looking away as he asked the dreaded question. "What sort of things?"

There was no way…he couldn't possibly have…could he? He studied her face, watched for any indication. If Sara knew of his condition, of his intentions…would she be this calm? Her look was taunting, mischievous even as she sipped at her drink.

"Oh, you know, just things…things I'll gladly bring up when it's needed."

"Blackmail?" Greg asked incredulous, shaking his head. He would have never have thought…

"Such a dirty word," Sara grimaced, leaning back in her chair.

Shaking his head Greg groaned, moving his cup aside. "Is it physically possible for my head to hurt this much?" he wondered, rubbing it tenderly.

"Well, drinking does have it's downside," Sara replied, a smile gracing her face as she leaned back in her chair, watching the younger man's face wince with pain.

"I think I'm going to go straight back to being drunk," he muttered, "at least then I was having fun."

"Come on tough guy, suck it up…" she chided him softly, laughing as he glanced up at her. "It can't be that bad."

"You would know," Greg snorted, draining his cup. Somehow the taste of water just didn't satisfy him. He was aware of Sara watching him even before he looked up. "You are enjoying this way too much," he commented dryly.

"I've been drunk before Greg," Sara told him quietly, "I know what it's like…let's just say that it's a very different experience to watch someone else go through it. I'm not laughing at you; I'm laughing because I've been there before."

"Oh, so you're teasing me because you sympathize with me?" he wondered briefly, then he started to shake his head. "Never mind." He sat for a moment, quiet, but pursed his lips. "So…why did you stay?"

Sara shrugged, "I wanted to make sure you were okay," she told him quietly, a grin crossing her face, "Besides, you are so damn cute like this."

He laughed softly, "Have you ever thought about getting your head examined?"

She stood up then, collecting both of their cups as she wandered up towards the sink. Greg swallowed nervously, afraid that he had somehow upset her.

"Why do you assume that there's no possible way for me to be interested in you?" she asked suddenly, turning around to face him.

"I don't know," Greg muttered, dropping his voice. "Maybe because the last time I asked you out you completely forgot about it, or maybe it's because the last time I hit on you, you told me we were just friends."

"We are friends," Sara reminded him. "But that doesn't mean we can't be more."

Greg let out a heavy sigh, "Why the change? Why now?"

She shrugged her shoulders, "Why not?"

When he didn't answer Sara nodded in understanding. "You deserve to know, I'm just tired of waiting…"

"Grissom?"

She ran tongue over her lips, drawing in a long breath. "I thought it would have happened by now…I guess that just makes me pathetic and stupid." She was leaning against the counter, arms folded. Greg could tell she was using all her concentration to not start crying then and there.

More than anything, he wanted to take back what he had said, wanted it to go back to how it was before. True, more than anything he wanted to go out with Sara, wanted to hold her, to love her. But like this? At her darkest times? The woman had come to a realization that the man she loved would never be there for her. Was that really fair?

"Sara…" he shifted uncomfortably, trying to think logically, a difficult task at the moment.

"Don't," she shook her head, glancing sideways at him. "You don't have to apologize…I understand."

"I don't know what else to say," he told her quietly.

"Say yes…"

Greg blinked, glancing down at his hands, smiling slowly. After all, what could he lose? He looked back up at her, smiling softly. "Yes…"

* * *

He liked it here, it was quiet. With all the commotion earlier today Greg felt as though his head was a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at any moment. It was his first time talking with the press; Grissom felt it would be a good exercise for him. Despite how much he pleaded, and begged, Grissom hadn't heard any of it. Greg fumbled through his words, answering the questions in little of words as possible. It felt like he was at the stand in court, reviewing a case. It was the one part of the job he hated.

Okay, so maybe not hated, that was too strong of a word…he disliked it. But now it was all over, he didn't have to worry about it anymore…that didn't mean he was any less tense. The last few weeks had not been going well; Greg would be the first to admit.

He glanced up warily, as his phone rang…more like vibrated on the table. Reaching over he grasped it in his hands, checking the caller ID. He didn't take time to consider it, only shut the device off. Greg wasn't in the mood to talk; he was too preoccupied with other stuff at the moment.

Everyday tasks were starting to take a toll on him, things that should be simple; climbing the stairs, grocery shopping, carrying his clothes to the laundry mat downstairs…with each task he found himself out of breath sooner, often sweating as though the effort was great. Greg knew things were getting bad, he fumbled his fingers, tapping lightly on the table.

Only to make matters worse…he was late for work today. Greg could blame it on the alarm failing to go off, but he knew well enough that he had slept right through it. Not only that, he fell asleep once again, in the break room. The others thought it was a joke, teasing him relentlessly about knowing when to draw limits.

It hadn't stayed quiet for long, the relationship he and Sara were having. He didn't exactly hide it, nor did Sara. If anything, it was her fault the others knew. In the locker room one day before shift started, she had waltzed in, wrapping her arms around his neck as she kissed tenderly on the cheek. It was all for show, and she had played it well, adding on the comment that was louder than a whisper, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Thanks for last night."

There had been cheers, as well as jibes, and a full flushed Greg Sanders that had hurried out of there. It wasn't like him, he would often brag about his relationships, earlier on…but that was then. He was different now, and what he shared with Sara was important to him. It was a show, or a parade…and it certainly didn't help standings with his supervisor. Greg half wondered if that was the reason why Grissom made him talk with the reporters earlier on today. The man certainly knew how much he despised it.

"Greg?"

He glanced up cautiously as the brunette walked in, disbelief written over her face. Her hands were held out at her side as she shook her head. "I've been trying to call you."

Greg shrugged, glancing back down at the reports in his hands as he moved to pick up his cold cup of coffee. Catherine had asked him to look at the mug shots, an entire file cabinet of folders, in order to find a suspect. The description was bleak…a black male, in his twenties, mustache…and that was about it.

Sara meanwhile had picked up his phone, letting out a huff as she turned it on. "You are on call, but no one can call you when your cell phone is off."

"I'm busy," he said simply, tossing the one file aside as he picked up another.

"So am I," she replied in a quiet, yet deathly tone. Greg knew he was pressing his luck. "That didn't stop me from dropping everything to scour the lab for you."

When he didn't respond she pulled the file from his hands, this time catching his attention. "Come on Greg, quit fooling around. We have a 419 at the Mirage; we're the only ones free at the moment."

"I'm already working another case," Greg told her sharply, reaching out for the file she now held in her hands. "Find someone else."

"You only answer to Catherine when we don't have anything to give to you."

"Grissom put me under Catherine's charge," Greg replied, taking a file from the table when it was obvious Sara wouldn't return the one she had already taken. "Unless she says otherwise, you're out of luck."

"It was Grissom who told me to come find you," she warned him, pulling the second file from his hands. He was starting to get on her nerves, and not in a good way either.

"I didn't hear it from him."

Sara frowned, shaking her head. "You need a serious attitude adjustment. What is your problem?"

"You don't like it?" Greg wondered briefly. "Talk to Grissom about it."

She nodded, still astounded. "I'll make sure to do that."

Greg smiled only in slight triumph, knowing that he had long ago crossed the line. It wasn't a surprise that his phone, now on thanks to Sara, rang only a few minutes later. He didn't need to check the ID to see that it was Grissom, nor did he care. He was officially off the clock in five minutes.

Stacking the folders neatly he slipped the phone in his pocket, heading out to the locker room. If he was lucky he would be long gone before anyone came looking for him. He didn't need another fight, and that would be exactly what would happen.

His plan didn't work however, he spotted Grissom down the hallway, and too late he attempted to turn away from him. Greg only had to wait a few short seconds in the locker room before Grissom entered. There was concern on his face, which surprised him, Greg expected to find anger…that or the passive, deathly look his got once in a while when he became extremely angry.

"You want to talk?" he asked quietly, watching as the younger man worked his locker open.

"Not really," Greg answered mildly, doing his best to keep his voice level. Even so he knew that it was really a question.

Grissom studied him before answering. "You can't keep this up Greg."

"Keep what up?"

Grissom sighed, "You've missed the last two appointments with your doctor, you are coming in late, leaving early. You are becoming angry, losing your temper with others, ignoring direct orders…"

"Sara does not order me around," Greg stated bluntly, pulling on his jacket. "She is not my supervisor, you are."

"And I gave her an order, and I expect it to be followed. I can't run the night shift if you simply refuse to get along with the others…look, I know it's hard for you, you're going through a lot right now…"

"You know?" Greg questioned, taken aback. "What do you know? You dig into my personal life, you go behind my back, you study me as I'm some experiment…and you feel that you're in the right to judge me?"

"I didn't mean to offend you," Grissom replied quietly.

"It doesn't matter," Greg answered, slamming his locker for good effect. "My shift's over, you know well enough that I'm not allowed overtime."

"What, no challenge this time?"

Greg scowled, but continued to walk pass him. He didn't need this right now.

"Greg," Grissom called after him, letting out a heavy sigh. "I know about the gun."

It stopped him in his tracks, but he refused to turn around, refused to face him. Part of him was surprised that he hadn't said anything before.

"What are you planning?"

Grissom's voice was quiet, demanding. Greg swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. "That's none of your business."

"You are my employee, and my friend…I think it is."

"Are you doing this for me, or just to cover your back?" Greg asked, turning to face him. Grissom had raised an eyebrow, confusion spreading across his face. Keeping his voice low Greg moved closer to him. "So that if that I put a bullet through my head you can stand up there and say you did everything that you could? So that if you work my case you won't be bothered, so that you can have all the answers to the puzzle. Is that all I am to you? Another case, another victim…just another face matched to picture. Oh if only there was something you could have done different, then maybe we could have saved him."

He took a breath here, but his tone only became more and more serious as he went on. "I'm going to die Grissom, one way or another. Nothing is going to change that. I am going to die, whether I kill myself or my body does that for me it doesn't matter. If I want to put a bullet through my head then I will, that is my right, and you can't take it away from me."

"No," Grissom responded quietly. "I can't."

Greg backed off some, his chest heaving slightly. There were unshed tears in his eyes, but he wouldn't start to cry in front of his boss, he simply refused. Instead he turned, ready to leave, frozen in his tracks at Grissom's next words.

"But you won't."

"How do you know?"

"Because, you said if, and not when," Grissom told him. The young man only shook his head as he headed out of the room. If the situation were different Grissom wouldn't have hesitated in pulling him into his office, wouldn't have thought twice about reviewing the rules with him. Yet watching him leave now, Grissom knew that things had indeed become serious…

He could only hope that he was right.

**TBC**


	8. Counting on a Friend

**Chapter Eight: Counting on a Friend**

Whenever Grissom wanted to see her, it usually wasn't for a good reason. Sure, they talked, as much about stuff unrelated to work as work itself. But it was never a good thing when Grissom sent out for her.

Catherine gathered the last of her stuff, an armful of items she hardly used, but couldn't be without. A purse, a heavy coat in case she was called away from the city, which now was in desperate need of a wash, groceries that she had picked up before shift. Sometimes she felt as though she needed a second life…or at least a clone. It would make things so much easier.

It wasn't a lot to carry, though more than she was certainly used too and part of her wished she had stopped by Grissom's office first. So she would have to walk an extra twenty steps, but now she would have to find a spot for all her stuff.

Grissom didn't seem to mind, glancing over his computer screen as she dropped everything in one chair, nearly collapsing in the other. It had been a trying double shift, and she was more than ready to go home, it only added tension that she had to be here.

"You headed out?"

She blinked, raising an eyebrow. Was this what he really wanted her for? To make small talk? "I was…"

"Anywhere in particular?"

Once again she was slow to respond, the question catching her off guard. "Are you…asking me out?"

This was enough for Grissom to look up, the confusion on his face matching that of Catherine's. Quickly he shook his head, clearing his throat. "I was just wondering if you would be willing to stop by Greg's place, see how he's doing."

Catherine let out a sigh, folding her hands in her lap. It wasn't a secret; she had gone to Grissom the day after learning of Greg's plight, to talk things over with the supervisor. She needed a release of her own, and since Grissom already knew about it, she technically wasn't breaking any promises. "Why is that?"

"Just concerned," he replied quietly.

"You think something might happen to him?"

"He's been irrational as of late and on top of that he's purchased a gun, so yes, I'm a little worried something might happen."

"How do you know this?" Catherine wondered, her brow furling as she studied him.

"How do we know half the things about our suspects?" Grissom answered, barely missing a beat.

Catherine was astonished. "You've been diving in on his personal life?"

"You think that's wrong?"

She nodded, mouth still hanging open some. "Hell yes."

He looked up, somewhat surprised, but she didn't give him enough time to talk. "Grissom, he's not an experiment you can poke and prod at. You have no right…" she shook her head, rubbing it. "I can't believe you would even try something like this…"

"I became concerned when his doctor called here trying to get a hold of him. I did a little research, found out he had purchased a gun…it's not like I'm stalking him."

"It's still wrong," she stated point blankly, "If he wanted to tell you, he would have. I don't blame him for being testy…I would be too."

"So you're telling me that if it were Lindsey, you wouldn't do anything?"

"That's different," she sighed, "Lindsey is my daughter. Greg is an adult…he can take care of himself."

"If Greg's intentions are to harm himself Catherine, we have to do something."

She sat quiet for a moment, considering his last words, but at last shook her head. "Greg's a smart kid, he knows better than us what he's doing. If…" she took a breath, stressing the word, "if he decides to take his own life, there's not much we can do about it."

"So you'd just give up on him?" he questioned, frowning.

"I think we should respect his decision. This isn't something he's going to come back from Griss…you know that, I know that, and so does he. If he doesn't want to sit around and wait to die…"

She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. It was hard to think about, and even harder to talk about. Grissom shifted in his chair across from her, taking control of the conversation.

"I know that Catherine, I know there's nothing we can do, but what would Greg accomplish by taking his own life? It's selfish…"

"And it's not selfish for us to hold him here?" She wondered, looking up at him. "When he's ready to go, he's ready. And he'll know when that is…we can't ask him to stay just because we want him too. I can't even imagine what he's going through, and neither can you."

He pulled off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. The conversation had gone far off course, further than he would have liked. "Put it into perspective…what if it was Lindsey? Would you let her do something like this?"

Catherine's mouth was dry, almost immediately she wanted to shout 'of course not', but found herself unable to. Turning away from his gaze she thought it over, letting the unsettling thought pass over her. Could she let go of the one person she truly loved? "I don't know," she told him quietly. "I suppose…that after watching her suffer, seeing everything she had to go through…yeah…I think I could. It would be hard, but…sometimes there are worse things than death. A person will let go of life when they're ready…we see it all the time, the dead and the living, one person refuses to die, where another lets go instantly."

Grissom said nothing in return; he had expected a different answer. He wasn't happy with what she gave him, but it had struck him hard. Was he helping at all here, or was he only hurting, making things worse? Would Greg become even more irrational just because he knew he was being watched, would he try a make a point just because Grissom had challenged him?

"I'll stop by," she told him softly, "But I'm not going to try and convince him to do something he doesn't want to. I trust him too much…"

He didn't even have to look up to know that she had already gone; her departure had been anything but quiet. Grissom was still lost in his thoughts and abundant worries…he couldn't help but wonder if he had made things worse…when all he had been doing was try to help.

* * *

There were no visible lights that she could see through the shade of the window. Catherine had already knocked twice, and tried the doorbell once, her apprehension only growing as no answer came. She had been furious when finding out Grissom's method to keeping tabs on Greg. What ever happened to just asking the man, rather than pouring into his secrets…

If Grissom would do something like that so easily, what was he doing with the rest of them? Was Grissom looking into her private life as well? She knew that she had jeopardized the lab several times in the past, but surely that didn't account for an investigation into her life.

"Come on Greg," she breathed quietly, knocking once again. Now she was really starting to worry. His car was in the parking lot, two stalls down from where she had parked. He would have been home for hours now…maybe he was asleep, or maybe he had actually tried something.

The thought only increased her panic, as she knocked on the door once more. Would she really be able to let him go when he was ready? The news of the gun had indeed shocked her, but not as much as she first anticipated. Greg was only exercising his limits, just because he had it, didn't mean that he would use it…did it?

By now she was overly worried, close to giving Grissom a call on his cell and apologize thoroughly, state that he had been right and there was something wrong. That was until a light went on inside, and footsteps could be heard. She let out an impatient sigh, grateful at the same time.

The locks were messed with, and second later the door opened, Greg, only halfway dressed was watching her curiously, a towel draped over his shoulders. "Are you lost?"

"I've been trying to get a hold of you for the last ten minutes," she told him, shaking her head.

"I've been in the shower…is that a crime?"

She gave him a crisp look, all the while trying to think of some witty comeback when stepped inside, leaving the door open. "You coming in?"

She stepped in after, closing the door. For a moment she was basked in dim lights, but Greg changed that as he turned the switch in the kitchen even as he finished drying his hair. "Can I get you anything?"

Catherine shook her head, to which Greg only shrugged, opening the refrigerator door himself. He seemed fine…but then again looks could be deceiving. Greg pulled away quickly, a cup of yogurt in his hands. "So, why are you checking up on me?"

"I'm not," she replied almost immediately. It wasn't until after Greg gave her that questioning look that she confessed. "So what if I am? Grissom's worried."

"He would be" Greg snorted, digging his spoon into the container. He took a big mouthful, attempting to speak but in only came out as a jumbled mess, in the process spilling some of the food onto the counter.

"Sorry," Greg apologized, wiping it clean with a towel. "After all these years I still haven't learned to not talk with my mouth full."

Catherine laughed, leaning against the counter across from him. "How are you doing?"

He was quiet, stirring the yogurt with his spoon, seemingly lost in thought. Finally he shrugged, letting out a sigh. "I lost my temper…and I don't why."

"I wouldn't blame you," Catherine stated, "Grissom was out of line."

"It's not that," he countered her, "I was mad before he even told me…I'm assuming he told you as well."

She nodded slowly, but said nothing. Greg sighed, taking another bite. "I suppose you want me to give it to you."

"Greg…"

"I can't," he stated simply, "I got rid of it…I thought about it, honestly I did, but Grissom's right, I can't do it."

She smiled at him briefly before answering. "Are you saying that because it's true, or just to make me feel better?"

He shrugged, "Whatever you want to believe."

"I'll take that as a no…"

His smile was grim, and he refused to look at her, jabbing his spoon into the empty container a few good times. "I don't know what I'm trying to prove," he admitted honestly. "I don't want to die…I'm not ready."

She reached out, touching his wrist gingerly. It was enough to catch his attention, and next she knew she was gazing into his eyes, already wet with unshed tears. It was the same, each time he tried to talk about, a sure sign that Greg had yet to accept his fate. Catherine couldn't blame him, would she accept her death when it came to light?

"Not very many people can prepare for their deaths Greg…" it wasn't a happy topic, and certainly one that wasn't discussed often, if at all.

"Are you saying this a good thing?"

"We live to die…it's what we're working towards our entire life…whether or not you want to believe that. But death is the greatest happening in our lives…"

"You're sounding like Grissom," he cut her off dully.

She squeezed his hand, "I'm not going to tell you what to do Greg, it's your life. You're the only one that can make these choices…I want to tell you what I'd rather have you do…"

Greg nodded, mutter a quiet thanks. "It's so hard, there's no one I can really talk to…" he gave a small smile, squeezing her hand back. "Besides you, that is. I don't even know what to make of Grissom…"

Catherine laughed as she straightened up. "What about Sara? She's been listening to you a lot lately."

"She doesn't know," Greg shook his head, sighing. "I'd rather not tell her."

At the disconcerting look he received from her he continued to explain. "Not just yet…"

"You have friends here Greg…" Catherine reminded him. "Don't forget that, okay?"

The young man nodded, watching as the woman made her way to the door. "You want me to show you out?"

"I can find it," she told him sweetly. "I'm only a call way…"

"I know," Greg cut her off, "Thanks…"

It was the last that was ever said between them.

**TBC**


	9. Coming to an End

**Chapter Nine: Coming to an End **

Grissom watched causally as the young man before brought the straw to his lips, sipping the clear liquid. It had been a week since Greg was last in, the CSI taking some personal time off. Though Grissom had disagreed with it, he had taken Catherine's advice, and backed off. He was surprised to find out she had been right, that when giving him some space, Greg continued on as normal.

Greg had shown up a few minutes ago, making himself comfortable in the chair across from him. Nothing had been said yet, and it seemed a little awkward that Greg was so comfortable with just sitting there, and saying nothing.

"You've been drinking a lot," Grissom pointed out as he leaned back in his chairs. His back ached at the moment, and it seemed as of late he hadn't been getting out into the field as much as he would have liked. Evaluations were the downfall of this job.

"I've been thirsty," Greg told him calmly, resting the cup on his leg. At this point he wouldn't look his supervisor in the eye. He wasn't sure why he was here; it was the only thing that had been on his mind since waking up that day. Greg took another sip of his water, letting out a sigh.

"Have you been urinating often?"

"That's kind of a personal question," Greg replied blankly, somewhat curious to why the question was even being asked.

Grissom nodded thoughtfully, "It could mean something's wrong."

Greg laughed wryly, a sad smile crossing his face. "Well, both you and I know what's wrong."

"I meant something else Greg," Grissom replied sternly, removing his glasses. "Maybe you should go get checked out?"

If there was ever a hint it was there, but Greg only shook his head. "That's okay; I don't need an update on how quickly I'm dying."

"That's not exactly what they're for. It's to make sure everything's going as well as it can, and in case something else comes up, they can treat it."

"More tests, more medication, possibility of being held up in a hospital…I think I'll pass," Greg murmured, taking another sip.

"You won't even consider it?"

Greg was quiet this time, but soon enough he shook his head. "I don't want to spend my last days in a hospital, and if I go anywhere near there, they'll probably force me too. I'm not naive; I know how well things are going…"

"Is that why you still have the gun?" Grissom let out a sigh seeing his amused reaction. "Catherine and I have a hard time believing you just got rid of it."

"I didn't do anything illegal," Greg pointed out, "You should know that, seeing you went out of your way to dive into my personal life. I followed all the procedures, paperwork…the gun is legally mine."

"Most people dealing with such issues take it upon themselves to ensure that they still have a choice," Grissom started talking, his voice low and quiet. "You are exercising your freedom, reassuring yourself…" he shrugged, "its not uncommon."

"Then you don't need to worry," Greg answered.

It was nearly impossible to get under his skin, something Grissom found irritating. Greg seemed perfectly okay with how everything was turning out, and nothing was going to convince him otherwise. It was Grissom's turn to listen as Greg steered the conversation.

"You know I'm afraid to fall asleep? Even though I'm tired nearly all the time, I lay awake, and listen to the clock tick, count the seconds as the go by. Seconds stretch into minutes, minutes into hours…tick, tick tick," he imitated the sound, clicking his tongue in his mouth. "It's a cheap model, my old alarm clock doesn't keep time very well…I figured I didn't need anything special. It's so small, but it's very accurate…it keeps on going, but after a while it will start to slow down, the seconds will become longer, and time will eventually stop…until someone puts new batteries in it, fixes the time…"

"You think it works the same for people?" Grissom wondered.

"I know it doesn't," Greg shook his head. "That's the hard part…I can't get what I need…not only is there not enough time, I don't have the money. Theses days you have to be rich in order to live…"

"It's expensive," Grissom agreed, "But things can be worked out…if you talked with the others, and your family I'm sure we'd be able to figure something out."

"And it takes years to even get on a list Grissom," Greg interrupted him. "I'll be dead before I'm even approved, let alone try to think of a way to get all the money. And besides that, even if I live that long, and if I get on a list, can I find a match, will my body accept it…I'm outnumbered…"

"Sometimes I get so confused…I think I'm doing the right thing…then everyone turns around and says I'm not…I feel like I'm letting everyone down, but I'm too tired to try and play favorites anymore."

"You do what you feel is right. If they or I, for example, was in your position, maybe we would all understand a little better. At the moment we are all healthy, we live each day, never really concerned about ourselves…then we see you, and from our state of mind, we think everything's okay. It's like trying to say how you would react, let's say if someone broke into your place. Everyone comes up with different answers, protecting themselves, their family…whatever it takes. The truth is you don't know how you will react, until you're placed in that situation. You wait until your adrenaline is flowing; when your senses narrow…you can't really think."

"Except I have more than few seconds to think about everything…" Greg counted him with a nod. "I don't think it really helps though…as many times as I've thought it over, you'd figure I would have an answer by now…on what I want to do."

"What do you want to do?"

He looked up at him, a sadden gaze as he answered. "Live…but that's not an option."

Greg shifted in his chair, talking once again before Grissom had the chance. "Actually, I want to work, there's nothing to do at home…"

"And you stopped by here because?"

"Well…I was out of line with you, and Sara…I figured you would want to talk with me. Give me one of those good for the lab speeches, how I need to learn to work with the others, and respect them. That I need be more on top of things, and that there isn't an excuse to get mad at the others…"

Grissom smiled, resisting the urge to laugh. "I think you just gave it to yourself."

"So that's it?" Greg wondered, hopeful. "No apologies, no nothing?"

"I don't need an apology Greg, but Sara might want one."

He nodded, "I figured as much."

"She also deserves to know…it's only going to hurt more if you don't say something."

"Can't keep it hidden forever, huh?"

Grissom raised his eyebrows, even as the younger man stood. It wasn't necessarily fair to press him so hard, but Grissom wanted to make the importance of the issue known. He wouldn't tell Sara himself, but could only imagine her despair when she found out, after his death. Greg merely shrugged his shoulders, keeping silent as he left the room.

* * *

"You have a minute?"

Sara looked up from where she sat on the couch, however brief it was, before turning her attention back down to the book in her lap. "I'm busy," she responded bleakly, turning a page.

Greg nodded, giving her half a smile. He expected as much, the two hadn't talked since Greg had gone off on her. "I wanted to say that I was sorry," he began to apologize.

"Grissom made you come," she cut him off, barely paying any attention to her book, but doing her best to make it look as though she was. If Greg knew she was focusing her attention on him he would only use that to his advantage.

"Yes, and no," he explained, coming in to sit next to her. Sara swung her legs off the cushion in order to make extra room. "I am sorry…I just don't want to admit it."

She couldn't help but smile, amazed at his honesty. It was the first real fight they had, and in the past her old boyfriends would always come up, make everything sound as though it was their fault, and plead for forgiveness. Sara wouldn't judge, she knew it took two people to tango, she couldn't blame everything on Greg, but she wouldn't blame it all on herself either.

"Typical male," she laughed shortly, but made no attempt at any further small talk. It would be enjoyable to let him mope over it all a little while longer. It surprised her when Greg shifted, swinging his legs onto the couch as he leaned against her.

Instinctively she wrapped an arm around his chest as his head came to rest on her shoulder, before reaching up to run a hand through his wild hair. "You feel warm," she commented quietly, her eyes drifting between the pages of her book and his face.

"I've been a little under," Greg answered, shrugging the small detail off.

"Why are you in then?" she queried, flipping to another page.

"I wanted to work…but most of all I wanted to see you."

She laughed, "So you can get me sick as well?"

The grin was on his face as he closed his eyes, letting out a low chuckle. "If I really wanted to get you sick," he started, picking up her hand in his and kissing in tenderly, "I'd get a little busy."

"We're on the clock Greg," she told him, laughing. She hated giving in so easily, but Greg just seemed to have that natural ability.

"I'm not," he stated quickly, "and you're on break. So technically is wouldn't be breaking any rules. Let's go find a closet or something."

He made the last statement with a grin, and for his efforts gained a laugh from her. "You're so bad Greg," she chided, feeling her face blush in embarrassment when she found they were no longer alone.

Nick let out a low whistle as he came into the room, a witty comment about how the room seemed to be steaming up coming past his lips. Sara let out a dry laugh, her hand resting on Greg's chest where he had clasped it with his own hands. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough," he replied, pulling his lunch from the small refrigerator. "I thought you two were fighting."

"Word travels fast, doesn't it?" Greg asked innocently, rubbing Sara's arm. The Texan only grinned, taking a seat at the small table.

"Yeah, while two's company, three's a crowd…" Sara pointed out, "I need to get back to work anyways. I have a trash run out near the Freemont, if you're interested."

"Grissom said I'm yours for the night," he chirped, sitting up as Sara pushed him off of her. "I suppose he didn't mean that you could take me home or anything, huh?"

"I don't know," she shrugged her shoulders as she stood. "We'll have to see."

* * *

There was hardly a night Greg could remember such as that. The case had been a quick open and close deal, something they rarely ever saw. That alone left plenty of time for the pair. Greg spent the day at her place, one of the firsts, before heading to his own apartment as the evening drew to a close.

It would be something he would never forget, holding her close, his face buried in her hair, the gentle aroma lingering in the back of his mind. If only he could hold her like that forever…

Greg wasn't sure what had changed her mind…he didn't know where her sudden interest came from, what she saw in him. They had always been close friends, and though he had tried to cross those boundaries from time to time, somehow he believed nothing would ever come of it. After a while he simply gave up the chase, convinced that Sara was not interested in him.

Maybe that had been how it all started…after all, when he let up; she had come to him more often. Sometimes seeking him out after shift just to make small talk. Greg hadn't really noticed it then, or thought about it for that matter. But now, as he mulled over their growing relationship, he began to wonder that if backing off had been the key that started everything…if only it didn't have to end so soon.

Greg chewed on the end of the pencil, staring at the blank piece of paper in front of him. It had been nearly an hour since he first sat down, and the progress he had made was little to nothing. Pressing the fine tip against the white background he wrote simply, quickly…only to come to a stop.

How would he start? Dear lab? That seemed more than awkward. To whom it may concern? Of course not, he wasn't some salesperson. Rubbing his head Greg set the pencil down, racking his brain. He had to say something, but everything he had rehearsed before had now fled his mind. There was nothing but an empty shell.

Letting out a long sigh Greg reached for the pencil again, finally coming to a conclusion. 'Dear friends…'

Once he had started it was hard to stop, the words coming back quickly. Greg felt his chest heave unevenly as he continued to jot down his thoughts, well wishes and prayers. It was low of him, lower than he could imagine…what would they say, when they found him?

Greg felt sick to stomach, but pressed onward with his letter. At least he would be leaving them a goodbye. Everything was arranged, his will filled out, his funeral planned…the last week he had taken careful precautions to make certain he had everything covered. He wasn't the least bit nervous of anyone finding out.

'Remember me as I was,' Greg wrote down carefully. It would be better this way, who knew how much longer he would last before he could no longer hide it? If anyone found out, Greg knew what would happen, and the last thing he wanted to do was die in a hospital.

By now his hands were shaking, as he signed the letter at the bottom, with a warm as goodbye as he cold. Folding the paper in threes he taped in closed with a single strip, resting it against a chemistry book that sat on the table. Underneath it were his instructions, as well as a copy of his will.

For a long while he sat there, lost in trance, hands shaking even though they were firmly clasped. In his mind he pictured how everyone would react, the image of Sara becoming stuck in his mind. Grissom's warning came back to him, and he mulled over the possibility of how upset she would be.

He had written a separate letter for her, there was much to be said, more than he could ever explain, but he had to at least try. Greg only hoped everyone could understand…

Rubbing the back of his neck he pressed himself to his feet, grasping the gun in one free hand. He felt guilty, lying to Catherine about it, but what else was he supposed to do? Pop up and shout 'here it is'?

Greg found himself pacing back and forth, as he slid a single bullet inside. It took a few tries, with his hands shaking so badly it kept falling to the floor. Once he had succeeded he stopped to let out a low breath, before leaning against the wall.

How was he going to do it? It was a morbid thought, but one that was necessary. If there was only some easy way, to get it over quickly, but one that would leave him mostly…in tact. Greg chewed on his bottom lip, bringing the gun to his head. It rested there for a moment before he pulled it away quickly, letting out a breath that he wasn't aware of holding.

'Get a grip', he warned himself. If this failed…it wouldn't, couldn't fail. He could do this, he just needed some practice. Greg nodded at the thought. The team saw it often; those who committed suicide often had scars from previous attempts. Stutter cuts, scratches…though he had to admit that he really wouldn't get a second or third chance with this.

Taking one last breath in order to steady himself, Greg pressed the barrel of the gun into his mouth as he closed his eyes.

**TBC**


	10. Waiting to Die, Longing to Live

**Chapter Ten: Waiting to Die, Longing to Live**

She had become so used to answering her phone as 'Sidle' that she no longer inserted a hello. Not that it really mattered, no one besides work called her, and there was no need for formal greetings there. Even in a daze, as she was now, half asleep her mind still worked in the same manner.

"Sidle."

She fought off a yawn, her eyes still closed. How much sleep had she gotten? Apparently not enough.

'Hey Sara its Nick, we have a 419, possibly a suicide. I know it's your day off, but Greg hasn't made it in yet…'

"I can make it in," she replied, sitting up slowly. With the back of one hand she rubbed both eyes, before hugging her knees to her chest, still wrapped up in the light blanket. "Did you try calling his place? His cell was dead last night."

'We tried, but no answer,' Nick commented quietly. There was no real worry in his voice, lately Greg had been coming in at odd hours, with little to no excuse. Sara however shrugged it off, smiling.

"He's probably sleeping; he was tired when he left…"

'I can imagine,' came the Texan's voice, full of laughter, 'you sound tired as well, what have you two been up to?'

Sara could feel herself blush, even as she moved to get out of bed. "I'll…be right in," she told him instead, an ending to the conversation. She left the phone on the covers, as she searched for pants in the darkness, already pulling on a new shirt. Greg could have easily stayed with her, but he had muttered something about not being able to sleep if he stayed there.

Maybe she should be worried, or at least concerned. He was having constant mood swings, not to mention the variety of colds and fevers he had picked up over the last few months, and with him being tired most of the time…She would have to talk with him, convince him to go in to get checked out. As for now, she would just let him sleep.

* * *

"I can never understand it," Nick said quietly as she came up. He lifted his eyes briefly to watch the brunette as she crouched down next to him. His gaze turned back to where the body was stretched out, the gun on the floor. "How can someone just kill themselves, leave behind their loved ones…" he trailed off, reaching over to pick up the envelope.

"We don't know that it's suicide for sure," Sara reminded him. She was skimming over the man's driver license.

"No indication of foul play, a fair well note…easy in, easy out," Nick shrugged his shoulders.

"So who did you leave at your place?" Sara questioned, taking a few generals. At Nick's surprised look she continued. "You're so eager to get this over and done with."

"Well, I waited an hour for Greg to come in, and then another hour before I came out to the scene so that I wouldn't be too far ahead of you…I'm a little testy. We're two hours behind. Other than that, I'm just stating the obvious."

"It could be staged," she countered, "It's been done before. Once the victim's drugged, it's hard for them to fight back."

Nick nodded, with a slight sigh, knowing she was right. "I'll check into it," he muttered. Sara seemed content with the answer as she moved to her feet, doing a general sweep of the area. David had yet to show up, so there was little more he could do with the body now, and he let out a bitter sigh. That's all he needed, more waiting.

He barely noticed as Sara's cell phone rang, focusing on his task at hand. Cases like these reminded him that life was too short to deal with unnecessary interruptions. He snapped a picture of their vic, a sad expression on his face as he lowered his camera. He was about to tell Sara to hurry up, when he noticed her voice was beginning to rise. Glancing towards her, it was obvious something was wrong. He watched, concerned, as she stopped talking, and took a step closer towards her.

While he couldn't make out what the other person was saying, it was clear that they were upset. Sara hadn't looked at him, but her grip was tight on her phone, a clear look of panic in her eyes. It was quiet now on the other end, and Sara met his gaze for the first time.

"What is it?" he asked quietly.

Sara shook her head, there were no tears in her eyes, but it was obvious she was close. "Greg…" she cleared her voice, "I think Greg's in trouble."

"Where is he?" Nick asked slowly, hoping she had at least gotten that much out of the conversation.

Sara swallowed, "His place."

* * *

Every possible scenario had gone through her mind, starting with the bad and shifting quickly to the worst. Several times she had tried to call him back, each time she only ended up with his voice mail. What if he was hurt? She could only imagine some cloaked figure breaking into his place, whether it be robbery or something else…what if Greg saw something someone didn't want him to see?

"I'm going as fast as I can," Nick told her, sensing her worry. She nodded dully, already knowing that he was. It didn't make things any easier. What if he needed help, should she call for an ambulance? Greg wouldn't answer hardly any of her questions; his voice had been stretched thin, masked by sobs. It was disturbing, she had never seen Greg cry before, let alone sob. He became withdrawn whenever he was upset, and even more so when he was depressed…what would set him off so?

She rubbed her head, leaning against the window. They were close to his place now, and with the light being red Sara considered jumping out of the vehicle. Perhaps she would get there faster. The notion was dismissed however as the light changed, and Nick wasted little time in punching it. Obviously he was just as concerned.

It was hard to be quiet, at the hour they normally were awake, most people were sleeping. With the fear coursing through her veins Sara didn't even try, already moving up the stairs before Nick could even park.

"Greg?" she turned the handle to his door, frustrated as it didn't open. Slapping it with her palm she called his name again, pressing her head against the door. She could hear someone inside, but it didn't do anything to settle her fears.

"What's wrong?" Nick breathed, coming up behind her.

"Locked," she knocked again, this time pleading with Greg to open it.

"You have keys?" Nick asked. He assumed that since the two were dating, she would carry a spare to his place.

"At the lab," she answered, biting her bottom lip.

Reaching over her Nick knocked on the door, calling out to his friend with his nickname. There was no response, which only escalated the worry. Sara was holding his arm all the sudden, turning to him. "You have a pocket a knife?"

He nodded, curious now as he removed it. Sara could only pray the bottom was locked as she slid the knife open, pressing the blade into corner of the door. If the locks were anything like that at her place she wouldn't have a problem. She got it on the second try, hardly soaking in the comment Nick gave her.

She wasn't sure what to expect, what to find, but it didn't slow her down at all. The darkness only added to the dreariness of the situation. Sara found him in a corner, dressed in the same clothes from the previous day. His arms were wrapped tight around his legs, his face red from obvious crying. Yet as soon as he saw Sara he raised his hands, as an expectant toddler waiting to be picked up.

"What happened?" she asked, fear and worry making her voice tight as she moved to her knees, wrapping him in a heartfelt hug. She was surprised at how tightly he grasped her, leaning into her hold as he buried his head against her chest, his body shaking as it was wracked with sobs.

She only glanced up as Nick cursed, kicking the fallen gun away from the pair. Her entire stomach turned in on itself, shaking her head as she denied it. Greg's chest heaved as he tried to talk, all his words running together.

"I couldn't do it," he cried, trying to pull her closer. "I couldn't do it, I couldn't…"

"Shh," she calmed him gently, rubbing his back as Nick paced behind her. She had never seen Greg like this, and never thought she would. She felt beyond sick, something she couldn't even describe as she held his shaking body. "It's okay…"

"Sara," Nick caught her attention, flashing the notes in her direction. One was blank, but the other had her name printed on it neatly. She turned away, resting her head on top of Greg's.

"Why?" she breathed quietly, "Tell me why."

He didn't answer, only shook his head, trying to catch his breath but failing to do so. Sara caught Nick's gaze again, a mournful look crossing his face. "We need to get him to the hospital," she told him quietly.

"No," Greg's response was quick, clouded by his strained voice. He shook his head to add to the effect, but made no move to pull out of her grasp. "No…"

"Call someone?" Nick wondered, ignoring his pleads.

"We can take him," she replied, confident that whatever had happened wasn't in need of immediate attention. He was obvious in a state of distress, but even medical attention would cure that. It was what worried her the most.

Greg had been shaking his head the entire time, his sobs only increasing. "You can't" he breathed, "You can't."

It broke her heart, watching as he tried to pull away even as she pulled him to his feet. He wasn't really fighting, not in a physical sense, but nor was he cooperating. So much energy had been spent in his own downfall he no longer had anything left.

"It'll be okay," Nick reassured her, already moving out the door. It took a little more convincing on Sara's part to get Greg to even cooperate, the only reassurance she had that everything would be okay once reaching the hospital. Little did she know that things would be coming to an end, much sooner than she anticipated.

**TBC**


	11. Angel

**Chapter Eleven: Angel**

She was exhausted, but Sara knew that sleep wouldn't come for her. It had been nearly an hour now since her and Nick had checked Greg into the hospital, though very much against the man's wish. That alone only added to her apprehension.

The only comfort she had was the simple fact that Nick was a shocked and bewildered as she was. Even stretching her mind she could not come up with an excuse to why Greg would want to kill himself.

The lump that had been in her throat had long disappeared, but now it was quickly coming back. Just the thought of it bothered her. Sara glanced down the hallways, anxious to find out what was going on, even more anxious to see Greg. Her own hands were shaking, and she longed nothing more than to wrap them around his frame, and hold him close.

A hoarse laugh left her lips, and she shook her head. What was she even doing here? She had thought to bring him here first, seeing him broken like that, crying on the floor after trying to kill himself. It had seemed like a good idea, but now…what would happen?

Would they put him in a mental institution? She grew sick at the thought of Greg being hounded around by doctors, locked in rooms and assigned to medications. After watching her mother go through something similar she swore she would never watch another loved one go through it again. But she just couldn't abandon him.

Her thoughts turned back to that one night, and she wondered dimly if Greg had been drinking heavily again…but she knew in her heart that had not. There were no signs, no symptoms…

Sara fisted her hands together, pressing them against her mouth as she felt the tears fall. She wanted to know so badly what was wrong that it was beginning to hurt. Was it something she had done, or had failed to do? If that was true then why did Greg refuse to let go of her, prompting the doctors to physically restrain him?

She let out a curse, wrapping her arms around her torso. Greg had obviously lost it, unable to keep himself from crying, talking in circles but never making sense. Now he was restrained in a hospital and who knew what else would happen. Would Greg become violent, and start to lash out, or would he just drift away and become nothing?

The silence was getting on her nerves, leaving her to wish that Nick had stayed. The Texan had left a while ago, heading back to the lab to inform everyone. He said it would be easier to tell everyone in person, but Sara believed it was because the situation was starting to freak him out. Sara had promised fully to call when she found out what was going on.

"Miss Sidle?"

She glanced up, hardly aware of the doctor standing over her until just then. Nodding quickly she moved to stand up, but the doctor stopped her motion, and instead took a seat next to her. She sat back down, the feeling of unease was returning.

"I'm sorry for the wait, but Mr. Sanders wasn't being very cooperative," he held the papers in his hands, showing her briefly what was written on them. "You stated he seemed disorientated, irrational maybe?"

Sara nodded, "Yeah…he um…he tried to kill himself, and I…I don't know, I just want to know what's wrong with him."

"His condition has worsened drastically, his system is slowly shutting down on itself, if he had come in earlier maybe we could have seen this…"

"What?" her voice broke through his, both awed and amazed, watching him closely. "Condition… what condition?"

"I'll assume he hasn't told you then?" he hardly waited for an answer, "He is, unfortunately, suffering from heart failure, he's been aware of this for months now."

"Heart failure?" Sara breathed, shaking her head quickly, "But he's not even thirty…why?"

"We don't know," his sigh was heavy. This was the hated the most, strictly after telling people that their loved ones had died. Was it any worse, telling them that their loved ones would die? "His hearts bad, we can't give you a reason."

"But surely there must be something you can do?" Sara was praying now, still in shock from the events earlier, as well as the information she was soaking in now.

"For now," he nodded, "Were you with him when he tried to commit suicide?"

"Of course not," she replied thinly. If she were there, did he honestly think she would allow it to even start?

"Do you know if he took something, did you see any empty bottles or anything before you brought him in?"

Sara shook her head again, afraid to ask the question. "Why?"

"Apparently Mr. Sanders has taken some sort of drug, it's deteriorating his system fairly quickly. We've done what we can, but whatever it is has already passed into his blood stream. He's refusing to speak with us, the only thing that we can do is pull a sample and send it in, but that will take days to get results…and at the rate he's going Mr. Sanders will be lucky to make it through till the morning."

"What?" She felt like crying, already was, the tears brimming in her eyes. There had been so much going on and she had been blind to it all…She couldn't stand the thought of life without Greg, for years he had been a close friend and recently she had just opened up to him. Now she felt sucker punched, unable to decide between wanting to throw up or cry until there was nothing left. Even if she had all the time in the world she still wouldn't be able to prepare for his death…and now this man here was telling her she had less than handful of hours?

"You have to do something," she cried once finding her voice, turning in her chair to face him.

"We can only do so much. Unless we know what he took we can't give him something to cure it, even if we did it's highly unlikely, all we have is time."

"What about a new heart?" she suggested, racking her brain for any possible solution. "Surely he can get one in time."

"It takes years," he countered, "of waiting, of paperwork, meetings. It's not something that is just done."

"But he's dying!"

"And so is the child that is born early, or the athlete that too many steroids, the grandfather that smoked for too long. How do give justice to them? Everyone needs something but organs are in short supply. We can't just simply give someone a heart because they are dying, simply because everyone does die. The process of selection is long and hard…don't start to judge until you know everything."

"And what am I supposed to do?" she replied crisply. "Watch him die?"

"Give him comfort, let him know you are there. What any good friend or family member would do." At her silence he continued. "If he can last through the night…if he can, we might be able to stabilize his system, at the most give him a month…maybe two…"

"Why are…you're asking me?" she wondered, feeling sick as he nodded.

"Mr. Sanders has made it very clear that he doesn't want to remain in the hospital, but when a patient is labeled as not being in the right state of mind, such a suicidal, they no longer can choose for themselves. It then passes to the guardian or their emergency contact, which would be you."

"He stays," she said simply, without a second thought. She knew Greg was upset, had seen it when taking him in, but if it gave him a chance…she would risk it. This time she nodded, more confident. "He stays."

"You can see him," the doctor nodded, "if you want. He's restrained, about the only thing we can do to keep him from leaving…"

Sara nodded, her legs shaking as she moved to her feet. The doctor had stayed behind, though she wished that he hadn't. Part of her wanted to turn around, head for home and bury her head into her pillows. That when she woke up, it would be nothing but a bad dream. But she wanted to see him, had to see him.

A bitter taste was in her mouth as she reached the door, wondering briefly why Greg hadn't told her anything. She should be angry with herself, for not noticing sooner, for not being able to help…if he would have only said something. Gritting her teeth she pressed the door open, her anger only increasing. The scene before her did nothing to help, knowing that Greg had chosen to do this to himself.

"Damn you," she whispered, her voice catching his attention. Greg looked up quickly seeing her there, but made no move to say anything. "Damn you," she repeated, louder this time, shaking her head as the tears threatened to come back.

"What did you take?"

Greg turned away as far as he could, ignoring her rants. It, however, didn't detour Sara. "What did you take?"

Covering her eyes with a hand she sank into one of the seats, letting out a bitter sob. "I trusted you," she cried lightly, "all this time, I never thought you'd hurt me, and then you pull something like this…"

Nothing more was said, only the sound of her cries could be heard, and even then they were quiet. Greg said nothing, only continued to stare at the wall, he had nothing left, not even the strength to cry.

It shocked him, when he felt the warm skin against his, turning to find that Sara had crossed the room, burying her head in the crook of his neck as she continued to cry, muttering soft apologies. It was instinctive, to reach up to comfort her, but the restraints allowed him limited movement.

She shifted, but held him close still, resting her head on the pillow next to him. She lay halfway on the bed, her legs hanging over the edge as she wrapped an arm around his chest. "You have to tell them…" she pleaded quietly, watching his face.

"Please…Greg, they can't help you unless you do."

"To what point?"

It was the first he had spoken, actually been able to talk without hesitation, without interruption. When Sara glanced into his eyes she didn't see the fear or confusion she saw before, they were clear, lucid…and demanding an answer.

"So you can take me home, nurse me like a child for a couple more weeks, a month or two?"

Sara pulled back, drying her eyes with the back of her hand as she watched him. His eyes closed as he turned away, prompting Sara to reach out to stroke his cheek gently. "I don't want to lose you Greg…"

Swallowing she regained control of her voice; it was more steady now, but plenty sad as questioned him. "Why did you tell me earlier?"

"I didn't want to hurt you," he answered quietly. It seemed ridiculous now, knowing full well by what Grissom had meant earlier. He had only hurt her worse by hiding everything.

"Greg, all you have to do is tell them…they can help you…this isn't how I want you to go, and I don't think that you want this either."

"I don't want to be here…"

"I know," Sara agreed quietly, "but it's for the best…"

She had barely finished talking yet Greg was already shaking his head, his eyes glistening with tears. "Don't make me stay…"

"You have to," she pressed, slipping a hand into one of his own. He wasted little time in curling his fingers around hers, holding them tight.

"No I don't," he pleaded quietly, "You can get me out, take me away from here…"

"I can't," she shook her head, "Greg…if I take you out of here you'll die."

"I'm going to die anyways Sara, you can't stop that, they can't stop that…no one can," Greg pointed out forcefully. He let out a solemn sigh as he rested his head back against the pillows. "Sara please…I'm begging you…don't make me stay here, please…"

She was crying again, one hand holding his as the other moved to cover her eyes. He was asking her the impossible, asking her to do something, that something would ultimately kill him. How long did the doctors say he had? Hours at best, and if by some miracle he lasted the night, how much longer after that? Would this question always be on her mind, back and forth to the hospital, until at last his body gave up? It was clear that he had already given up the fight in his mind, he was no longer denying what was to come.

"I don't want to die," he said quietly, "Not here, not like this…why is that so hard for you to understand?"

Drying her eyes one last time she let out a shaky breath, looking into his eyes. There were tears there as well, a mirror reflection of herself. He was so pale; she hadn't noticed it until now, as she ran her fingers through his hair. "What do you want to do?"

He didn't look away, or search for a distraction, his eyes clear again as they filled with hope. His voice was quiet, but audible as he answered. "I want to see the ocean."

* * *

Sara pulled the car to a stop, watching remorsefully as the water played before her. The sky was a light grey, tinged with pink as the sun struggled to climb through the haze. He had lasted much longer than they expected, yet Sara knew time was running out. Cautiously she reached over, shaking the man awake, calling his name quietly.

It took a few tries before Greg responded, a rough cough that shook his entire body as his eyes blinked open slowly. For a few seconds he glanced around the vehicle, before his gaze drifted out the window, caught up in a trancelike state.

"We're here," she nodded, one hand still resting on his shoulder. "Can you walk?"

It hadn't taken long to have him discharged, the doctors understanding of her decision, regretful at the same time. He hadn't been able to walk then, and instead opted for a wheelchair, but it wasn't like they could just whisk it along on the journey.

"I think," came his weak reply, but after a beat he continued, "with some help…maybe."

Sara nodded, already moving to get out. At the moment she wanted nothing more than to wake up, find herself in her bed crying a stream of tears as she hugged Greg close, wanting him to hold her and tell her that it was all a bad dream. But this wasn't a dream; it was a nightmare, one she couldn't get away from.

Everything was too real for a dream, the way he leaned against her because he could no longer walk, the icy feel of his skin, the blue tinge to his lips…Sara turned away, even as they worked their way across the sand, the only sounds were her own encouragements, and the crashing of the waves.

"Here…" Greg breathed, nearly collapsing. Sara held onto him, easing him to the ground as she followed. He leaned against her, as Sara wrapped her arms around him. "It's beautiful," he breathed.

She could barely talk, her voice catching in her throat as she nodded. Yes…it was very beautiful. Sara had almost forgotten how beautiful…she hadn't been out this way in ages. Turning down she watched Greg, his eyes searching the endless horizon, fighting the need the close.

One of her hands had moved to his chest, resting over his heart, a reassurance of sorts…

Greg leaned his head against her, his eyes closing as he took a few slow breaths, trying to calm his shaking body. "Sara…"

She nodded, her voice raspy as she answered, "Yes?"

"Do you…believe in angels?"

The question came as a surprise; it wasn't something she had thought about, not until now. How was she supposed to answer? Wetting her lips she nodded again, blinking away the tears that were threatening to fall. "I do…"

The answer seemed to satisfy him as he let out a subtle breath, reaching for her hand. Their fingers entwined as she kissed him tenderly, afraid to pull away.

"I have one watching me now…"

His last breath came quiet, silent almost, falling against the crook of her neck. Even still, Sara refused to let him go, holding not only onto him but the last moment that they shared as the tears came this time, only to be swallowed up by the crashing of the waves.

**TBC**


	12. Chapter 12

**Another end to another story. Thanks for sticking in there with me, I hope you all enjoyed this. I also want to dedicate this story to Jenny, who without her help this story wouldn't even exist. Thanks for all your help girl!**

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* * *

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**Chapter Twelve: Coming to an End**

It was unusually chilly for a Vegas morning, and though he knew he should be sleeping, Nick couldn't help but worry. As he knocked for the third time on the plain red door he moved away, hands slipping inside his pockets. Shift had ended nearly an hour ago, and after stopping to eat he had come straight here.

He was about to knock again but there wasn't a need, as the door drifted open slowly, Sara poking her head outside. Nick smiled, taking in her appearance quickly; she seemed weary, but other than that alright. "Hey," he nodded, unable to find his voice for a moment.

"Hey…" she returned the greeting, pulling the door open wider in invitation. "You want to come in?"

The Texan shook his head, smiling still. Most of all he was relieved just to see her, but didn't want to infringe on her privacy. They were all having a hard time, but no one more than Sara. The news had been shocking, even to those who knew, namely Grissom and Catherine.

Neither the supervisor nor his right hand suspected that Greg would pull something off like this. It was too unexpected…the blood tests had come back positive for antidepressants…a sort of insurance if Greg couldn't pull the trigger.

"You want to go for a walk?"

Sara blinked, turning away as she stared at the ground. Personally she wanted to stay there, to become lost in her thoughts and hang onto her memories. But the need for human contact was growing, the need to talk with someone other than ghosts and spirits. "I'll be right out," she answered softly.

She changed quickly, for days of being in pajama bottoms and overly large sweater were discarded, replaced with a pair of jeans and tee-shirt. On her way out she paused long enough to pull on a hooded sweatshirt, before joining Nick outside.

He smiled, seeing what she was wearing. "That was Greg's." It really wasn't a question, but she nodded in answer, wrapping her arms around her frame as they began to walk.

"It still smells like him," she commented softly. It was one of the few possession she had, most of Greg's stuff was going to charity. She and the others had spent the last week cleaning his place out. Most of it was already boxed up, ready to go. The stuff that had really mattered to him he had given to friends.

Grissom had received his coin collection, and though the man had little interest in such a thing he gladly accepted it, displaying it in his office among many of his own collections. To Nick, he had given the numerous games he had acquired over the years, a collection of memories the two had shared in their younger days.

There had been other stuff as well, but Sara had little to no recollection of what they were. Warrick and Catherine had chosen to stay quiet about what they have received, and it was Grissom who had taken the steps to assure any requested items make their way to his family.

Anything else was up for grabs for his friends, and whatever that was left over was to be sent to charity. Sara had only taken a few clothes, and a box of pictures she had found under a table, most of which were from his school days.

Sara had a few ideas of what to do with them all, working to make a scrapbook, her first ever. After all, someone had to remember him…

The letter ended on a lighter note, asking them all to remember him as he was, and to forgive him for everything he had done. Sara didn't blame him; she couldn't find the heart too.

"Are you doing okay?"

She glanced up at the question, nodding once it had processed through her mind. His smile was one of concern as he pulled her into a gentle embrace. Sara leaned against him, closing her eyes as he continued to talk.

"You've been quiet this entire time," he remarked sullenly. He had been talking since they left her door, but she hadn't said more than five words in response.

"I'm distracted," she replied, still leaning on him. "I just can't help but think there was more we could do…"

"I think we did all we could," he answered as they resumed walking again.

"If he only said something, we could have gotten some help. He could have gotten through this…"

Nick smiled as he walked alongside her. It was like Sara, looking for other possibilities, despite the odds. "Maybe," he didn't want to discourage her.

"He didn't have to kill himself."

It was here he let out a sigh, closing his hand around hers in order to provide some kind of comfort. "Listen…I've never told anyone this, and I probably won't again, so listen closely."

She watched him warily, already knowing what he was going to say. Nick had been reluctant to talk about his abduction with anyone, let alone his friends. There had been little said, the entire matter more or less dropped.

"When I was in that coffin, I was almost certain that I would die. I knew that help was coming, but I didn't know if it would come in time. I was…" he took a breath here before continuing, "okay, with everything. Terrified, definitely terrified, but ready to die I guess you could say. Of course, I would hold on as long as I could, just for a second chance of life. But if the time came, I would have used the gun. I think Greg figured that out as well."

"He didn't use the gun," Sara pointed out, surprised when he laughed.

"Maybe not, but his thoughts were the same. He was ready to go Sara…he knew help wasn't coming and still he held on this long. It wasn't a last minute decision either, he had everything planned, everything ready."

"At least he got to say goodbye," Sara mused, trying to lighten the subject. It would take some time getting used to everything, adjusting to a life without the man she had fallen in love with. But she could do it, if not for herself than for Greg. Somehow she knew that was what he wanted.

**The End**


End file.
